


Will You Ever Love Yourself?

by tuckington99



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Docnut but in the bg, Established Grimmons but in the bg, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Possibility of light smut later, Slow Burn, Some Freelancers will probably appear in flashbacks, Tuckington is not established yet, Wash dealing with the consequences of getting shot again, angsty as fuck, post season 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:22:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 60,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23779093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuckington99/pseuds/tuckington99
Summary: Follows right after season 17 ends.Wash had to get shot again to get the timeline back on track. That means he has to suffer from cerebral hypoxia and all of the consequences that comes with it: the nightmares, the confusion, the lapses in memory, all of it.It’s really, really fucking hard.But at least Tucker is there and isn’t planning on leaving.
Relationships: Lavernius Tucker/Agent Washington
Comments: 22
Kudos: 133





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Will You Ever Love Yourself? The title is straight from the song Will You Ever Love Yourself? by Hammock, half because it was the first song I listened to while I started writing this, and half because I think it fits with the story.
> 
> A few things before the fic begins:
> 
> Please forgive me for my username! It’s embarrassing, yes, but I can’t bring myself to create a new account because I have some old works posted on here. And yes, my last Tuckington work was years ago, but hey, I think I’ve improved since then.
> 
> This fanfic is canon compliant for the most part and I’ll try my best to be as accurate as possible, but I might accidentally fuck up or change a few things here and there to fit the story.
> 
> I am NOT a medical expert, whether PTSD, cerebral hypoxia or other related. My knowledge comes from Google. I’m sorry for any inaccuracies.
> 
> Lastly, my Tucker and Wash have been inspired by all of your Tucker’s and Wash’s. I’ve read countless fics and seen beautiful works of art. All of your Tucker’s and Wash’s are a part of mine and I hope you like them.
> 
> You can find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae). Shoutout to the two other mods, Sol and Soph, for being equally as crazy about RvB as me and reading and editing for me.
> 
> Enjoy!

When Wash has to walk back out into open fire in the hangar in Temple’s base, back to the exact spot where he’d gotten shot the first time, he swears he can hear his heart beating in his ears. The first time he did this he was completely out of it. Not to say he doesn’t remember anything, because he definitely remembers Tucker yelling his name in the background. He remembers saying something to Tucker that got cut off by him choking on his own words and blood and the oxygen leaving his body in one breath. He remembers being on the ground, seeing red, red, red, _so much red_. And that was pretty much it. Next thing he knew, he had woken up in the hospital with Dr. Grey chatting animatedly to him.

But the first time was so different than this time. The first time he felt like he was floating. He believes that was mostly because of the weird drunk feeling he’d had from being locked down in his armor for so long in that room with Carolina.

The second time he walked out into open fire he felt so much more confident. He was ready to set the timeline back on track. He was ready to get all of their lives back to normal and fix all of the chaos the Reds and Blues and even Carolina had caused. Even if it meant getting shot in the neck (which of course, never happened _that_ time because of Genkins).

And this last time…

This last time, Wash is _terrified._

He’s definitely ready and willing to be the piece that will fix everything once and for all, just like the second time. He thinks about how he would do it over and over again in a heartbeat for the Reds, Blues, and Carolina. But he’s still completely, utterly terrified of what’s going to come next. He remembers how he was with cerebral hypoxia and he knows that _that_ Wash isn’t the same Wash as before he got shot or after the timeline got fucked up and he was normal again for a little while. He _knows_ he’s going to be a goddamn mess and it scares the absolute shit out of him.

And yet, he still does it. Because he _wants_ to for them, and because they’re all there for him.

Wash walks up to the position where it happened the first time, his heart racing. He stops to turn and look at all of the people before him _._ Lopez. Kai. Sarge. Grif. Simmons. Carolina. Caboose. Hell, even Locus, wherever he was cloaked in the room.

His eyes stop on one of the last sim troopers.

Tucker’s staring back at him amid the gunfire, just like everyone else.

Everything suddenly gets quiet even though bullets whiz past Wash left and right. No one talks over their multiple shared channels (one with all of them, one with just the Reds, one with just Carolina, one with just Tucker and Caboose, one with Tucker, Grif and Simmons, and probably more). Wash can hear Carolina’s heavy breathing, too distinctly obvious from the deafening silence of everyone else holding their breaths.

“We’re here, Wash,” Tucker’s voice suddenly comes on over the radio, Wash doesn’t even know which one but he assumes the one with everyone else, as Wash’s heart pounds in his chest and his hands sweat under his gloves and on his forehead even despite the cooling system in their suits and armor. Wash focuses on his voice, he uses Tucker’s voice to _ground_ him and keeps his eyes on the turquoise—no, aqua? He should really ask about that precision— armor to keep himself from panicking. “We’re here.”

Almost as soon as Tucker stops talking, the shot comes.

After Wash fixes the timeline, things seem to be… okay. Not great, but just _okay_ , and definitely only in terms of them not almost dying or being caught in a conflict every second of their lives.

Once Wash is admitted to General Doyle General Hospital in the city, everyone stands around in the hallway. Doc tells them Wash is out of surgery and stable but they can’t see him yet as he’s being monitored for a few hours. He also adds that Wash will have a rough few months, which makes Tucker unconsciously clench his fists even though he already knows the long and painful journey to not even full recovery Wash will have to go through. Tucker wasn’t there the first time it happened because Donut had been zapped by Temple’s dumb time travelling machine, but he can only imagine the firsthand confusion, panic, and fear Wash must have felt in the first few hours and days. He knows Carolina was there for him, but still.

At least this time everyone’s there for him. _Tucker_ is there for him, because he should’ve been there the first time, not off on some stupid fucking sex time travel adventure with Kai.

Tucker doesn’t say much while they talk. According to Wash and his other teammates, he never shuts up (which, okay, yeah, he admits he can kinda see that), but right now he doesn’t feel like he has anything to say because the image of Wash getting shot in the throat keeps replaying in his mind. He does, however, say goodbye to Donut, who has announced he’s going to take a break and travel the fucking universe, or something. Nevertheless, God knows the guy fucking deserves it.

Tucker turns to Donut, awkwardly saying, “Well, uh, see ya dude.”

Tucker can tell by his stance that Donut is excited and touched that Tucker’s saying goodbye. “Aw, bye, Tucker! I’m gonna miss you!”

“Yeah, yeah, just don’t go around getting yourself into shit and then needing us to come save you, because I’m like, _super_ fucking over all that right now.”

“Oh, I won’t! Doc is coming with me, so if anyone’s sneaking up my rear, he and O’Malley will destroy them before they come too close!”

Tucker would usually sigh or cringe or yell at Donut for innuendos that even _he_ can’t make a Bow Chicka Bow Wow joke to, but this time he just chuckles lightly. “How long are you going for?”

“Hmm, good question. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” Donut rubs the chin of his helmet with a gloved hand. “Not long, I imagine, because I’ll miss you all too much! But… but I mean, whatever happens, right?” Donut suddenly sounds sad, as if being gone too long would be bad. “I could discover a new planet, or something! Or just really enjoy Paris…”

“Donut,” Tucker cuts him off before Donut gets too emotional, because although Tucker wouldn’t admit it, two people leaving from their group feels a lot like when Church and Carolina left without saying anything, and those memories are shit. “Stop worrying and just go. We’re gonna be fine.”

“You’re right,” Donut’s voice sounds a little nasally. Fuck, is he _crying_? “I’m not like Church. That guy was the white stuff when it came to holding all of us together.”

“Do you mean _glue_ —”

“And I’m just a piece of the puzzle! So, you’re absolutely right, you’ll all be fine without me!” Donut sounds chipper already, but he pauses and gets serious again. “Hey, Tucker, when Wash wakes up… can you tell him that I said goodbye? And that I had a _lot_ of fun on our time travel adventures together? We got pretty close, y’know.”

“Yeah, I will,” Tucker says, despite already hating the fact that he’ll have to tell Wash two of his friends left while he’s trying to deal with a severe brain injury. Tucker shakes his head a bit, trying to get the negative thoughts out. “He’ll probably beat himself up for not being able to tell you himself, but just know that he’d tell you thanks for everything. And also, that he’ll miss you. I think he’s got some fucking soft spot for you.”

“Probably from shooting me!” Donut says too gleefully for such a sentence. “Take care of him, Tucker.”

Tucker doesn’t exactly know what that means, because they’ll all be taking care of Wash, but he doesn’t ask as Donut suddenly throws his arms around him. Tucker pats his back as a way of saying goodbye.

Donut and Doc leave, which leaves Tucker with Caboose, Carolina, Grif, Simmons, Sarge, Lopez, Kai and Locus. He knows Locus is around because he saw the shimmer of his cloaked armor nearby, as if he’s pretending not to care about Wash’s state. Tucker _knows_ that dude has feelings towards all of them. He can’t figure out exactly what kind of feelings, but he’s leaning more towards positive feelings since he came and saved them and all with Grif back in Temple’s base.

Tucker’s plopped in a hospital chair in the waiting room, being a bit too big and bulky for the chair since he’s still in his armor. He’s exhausted from all of the fucking time traveling. He figures he needs a good 8-hour sleep and maybe his brain will feel less like mush, but for now he refuses to fall asleep until he can see Wash or even wait for him to wake up. He considers that that could be well into the middle of the night or even the next day before that happens, but Tucker doesn’t care. He needs to be there when Wash wakes up, because he doesn’t want him to wake up alone.

Caboose is sitting on the ground because he couldn’t even fit in a chair, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he colors on a piece of paper with some crayons. Tucker doesn’t know where the hell he even got them.

The Reds had left an hour or two ago to find some pizza since Grif wouldn’t let the idea go and Sarge was going to strangle him. Kai went with them and Carolina was somewhere in the hospital, probably bugging Dr. Grey about Wash.

Tucker taps his foot without really noticing he’s doing it as he holds his head up with his hand, his elbow on the arm of the chair. He really wishes the images of Wash getting shot and then bleeding out on the ground and losing oxygen would _leave his fucking head_ because Tucker absolutely _hates_ that Wash had to be some fucking sacrificial bullshit again to save him. _Them_. Fuck. For _all_ of them, not just him.

Tucker feels like a selfish dick, and then he feels even worse because he doesn’t have the right to feel shitty about this. Wash is the god damn one who got shot.

But… he can’t help but worry. Everything that follows is going to be hard on all of them, on Wash especially, of course. His fucking teammate, his _friend_ that he should’ve grabbed, or tackled, or, hell, even _knocked out_ to avoid something like this happening the first time. Tucker should’ve done more.

He sighs, for what must’ve been the hundredth time or something, because Caboose is suddenly looking at him with a tilted head and saying, “Tucker, why don’t you help me make a card for Agent Washington?”

Glancing at Caboose’s drawings, he realizes Caboose _is_ making Wash a card. The paper is folded in half and everything, with drawings on the front and he imagines childish writing on the inside.

“I’m good, Caboose,” Tucker mumbles, still tapping his foot.

“Okay, but you see Tucker, I felt really bad about Wash too, and I was pretty scared, but Doc said Wash is stable—or was it table?— and then Carolina told me he’d probably really like a card, and I said to her, Carolina, that’s a _great_ idea, Wash always loves my drawings!” Tucker rolls his eyes because he knows that Wash _always_ accepts Caboose’s drawings with a small smile and a thanks, no matter how awful they are. “Not to mention it distracts me from being so sad because I have to focus so hard on coloring in the lines!”

Tucker groans and sits up from his lazed position in the chair.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Tucker reluctantly says, mostly to just get Caboose to quiet down. “Coloring is good and shit for your brain. I get the message.”

He can imagine Caboose beaming under his helmet as he slides Tucker a blank piece of paper and blue crayons.

“Oh, Agent Washington is going to love our drawings! He’s going to be so surprised you made him one because you’re always telling me _Caboose, stop drawing bad portraits of us_ or _Caboose, Wash doesn’t want hundreds of your childish drawings_ which makes the surprise even better since we all know how much you hate coloring!”

Tucker grabs a blue crayon. He’s about to write the cliché _get well soon_ but that feels wrong in so many different ways, mostly because Wash _isn’t_ going to get well soon. He’s going to have to fucking adapt, is what he’s going to have to do.

Instead, he starts writing, _Dear_ _Wash, thanks for fixing the timeline with your throat._ Tucker can’t think of anything else to write and just signs his name before he starts to doodle in the empty space because his card looks fucking depressing in comparison to Caboose’s.

His drawings aren’t great, but he still tries to draw the tall Valhalla base and their base in the crash site with the mountains surrounding them and he draws a few cats since Wash fucking loves cats. He even attempts to draw himself, Caboose, and Wash, the last of Blue team, as lame stick figures side by side at the bottom of the page.

Tucker does find himself relaxing as he draws more bullshit. A blue sun in the corner, some blue flowers, and as he does, he realizes how close the color is to Church’s armor. And then he remembers when Wash wore Church’s armor with yellow accents, and suddenly Tucker’s heart clenches a little as he realizes the light blue might be his favorite because of these two reasons.

The Reds get back at around 2100 hours, surprisingly with a few slices of pizza that Simmons had to keep out of Grif’s reach until finally handing them over to Tucker and Caboose. Carolina still hasn’t come around to eat or talk to them since Doc and Donut left a few hours earlier.

Tucker pops his helmet off and is first hit by the smell of the hospital. It definitely smells like a fucking hospital. Then the pizza hits and he’s inhaling through his nose just to savour it, before taking a bite and sighing contentedly. It’s not even warm anymore, but Tucker doesn’t care.

“Fuck,” he says, halfway done his first piece already as Grif plops down next to him, squeezing into the chair. “Where the hell did you guys find pizza?”

“It’s a city, dumbass,” Grif says. “Not our fucking hopeless hole of a valley or base.”

“Which one?”

“Any of them! They all sucked ass.”

Tucker nods in agreement, even though some of them _didn’t_ suck ass, but he doesn’t want to argue and just wants to keep eating. He can’t even remember his last meal.

“So?” Tucker asks a couple slices later. “What’s the city like?”

“Fuck, dude,” Grif says. “You gotta see that shit for yourself. A lot of the buildings are still abandoned and pretty run down, but there’s some places out there, like _pizza_. It’s no Sammie’s, but fuck, it’s still pizza.”

“Well, I’m glad your fat ass finally got some after taking us on that stupid mission in the first place.”

Tucker looks at everyone else standing around the waiting room. Caboose is talking excitedly to Sarge and Lopez, his own helmet off too as he eats. Caboose’s dark hair is a wavy mess like usual, and even _he_ looks tired with some dark bags under his brown eyes. Somehow, Caboose is still happy. At least Tucker doesn’t have to try and help Caboose grieve or get through something this time, because Wash isn’t dead like Church’s handful of fucking deaths.

God _damn_ it, Church. Poor fucking Caboose. Thank _god_ Caboose finally has closure after he got to say goodbye in Temple’s base. That might have been the single good thing to come out of the time travel bullshit.

His thoughts are cut off as Simmons sits in the chair next to Grif and asks, “Any updates on Wash?”

“No,” Tucker fixes his dreads by pulling them back with a thick band before putting his helmet back on. “I haven’t seen Dr. Grey or Carolina in hours.”

“She’s probably around here somewhere, harassing the doctors or something,” Simmons says, echoing Tucker’s thoughts. “You can tell she still feels awful about Wash.”

“Well, yeah,” Grif says, looking at Simmons. “She _did_ lie to him about his own brain.”

“If Wash can forgive her then so can we. She’s our friend,” Tucker says to him, leaning back in his chair. “She just fucked up a little. I mean, we’ve all fucked up _way_ more than she’s ever fucked up.”

“Yeah, but her fuck ups are like, _huge_.”

“Grif!” Simmons elbows him hard.

“Ow!” Grif rubs his side. “Relax, I don’t have a grudge against her or anything. I’m just playing devil’s advocate! Jesus, Simmons, you _know_ how pointy your metal elbow is.”

Grif and Simmons somehow end up arguing about Simmons’ elbow and other stuff, and weirdly enough, it’s the most normal Tucker’s felt in awhile. He snorts, listening to them argue, interjecting every once in a while to support Grif’s argument, which makes Simmons rant even more with a high-pitched voice.

When the clock hits midnight, the Reds collectively agree that it’s time to head out. Simmons keeps yawning, and Tucker knows Grif is slowly falling asleep in his suit since he hasn’t said anything for the last hour and his head keeps falling onto Simmons’ shoulder before he jerks away and then five minutes later starts to lean again.

Andersmith and Palomo arrive to bring them to the living quarters for the soldiers in the city since they’d never been yet.

“You guys coming?” Simmons asks, turning to Tucker.

Tucker looks at Caboose, who is sleeping on the ground, holding his paper card to his chest, snoring loudly, in his armor and all.

“Nah,” Tucker says. “We’re gonna wait ‘til we can see him.” _And in case Wash wakes up so he isn’t alone_ , he doesn’t add.

Simmons shrugs in response and heads over to the others. Grif is swaying tiredly while Palomo talks his ear off about their new living quarters.

“We’ll return in the mornin’ to check on Agent Freckles,” Sarge says, holding onto his shotgun like always, even though there’s no imminent threat.

“Right,” Tucker responds, still sitting in his chair. His ass is starting to hurt. “See you guys later.”

“Goodnight, Captain Tucker!” Palomo says a little too loudly for a hospital at midnight.

Andersmith looks down at Caboose and quietly mumbles a _goodnight, Captain Caboose_ before they all head off.

Tucker looks down at Caboose again and grabs the pillow from behind his back on the chair. He lifts up Caboose’s helmeted head carefully, stuffing it under there. It probably doesn’t make Caboose any more comfortable, but maybe his neck won’t be as stiff in the morning.

Leaning back in the chair, Tucker puts his feet on the table he and Caboose had been drawing on a few hours earlier. He stares down the hall.

He wonders what’s going on in Wash’s room. If he’s alone in a dark room with different nurses coming and going, checking on him to make sure he’s all right. If maybe Dr. Grey personally hasn’t left his room. If Carolina had fought some of them just to be able to stand in the background, watching over him.

Tucker hopes Wash isn’t alone, even while knocked out from pain meds. He wants him to know he was never alone during the whole thing. He had asked them to be there, and they would be there.

“Tucker.”

He blinks awake, his neck bent uncomfortably backwards, his eyes staring at the ceiling. He must have fallen asleep sitting up.

His HUD tells him it’s 0300 hours.

“ _Tucker_.”

Someone’s hand is on his shoulder, gently shaking him even though he’s already awake. He looks to see Carolina above him.

“Is he awake?” Tucker asks instantly.

“No,” she responds quietly. “But Dr. Grey said you guys can come see him.”

Tucker’s already out of his chair as Carolina’s moves to wake Caboose up. 

“We get to see Agent Washington?!” Caboose asks excitedly. He’s still gripping onto his card. “Tucker, don’t forget your card!”

Tucker grabs his card and they follow Carolina down a few halls until getting to a room where Dr. Grey is standing outside out of her armor, a clipboard in her hands.

“Why, hello Captains!” she says cheerfully.

“Hi scary doctor!” Caboose answers.

“How is he doing?” Tucker asks, his heart pounding, even though he already knows the answer to that because of the time travel stuff.

Dr. Grey hesitates, the bright smile falling from her face.

“Well, Agent Washington is doing just spectacular. His vital signs are all perfectly normal at this point in time. However…” she pauses again, as if she doesn’t know how to deliver the news. She glances at Carolina, who Dr. Grey has obviously already talked to, before she looks at Caboose and Tucker. “I was able to determine from a few scans and an MRI that Wash has suffered from cerebral hypoxia. This means that he went several minutes without oxygen to his brain and—”

“Oh, yeah, cerebral hypnosis, we already knew that!” Caboose cuts her off.

Dr. Grey looks at Caboose first, confused, and then Carolina, assuming she had told them, when in fact they’d already known this entire thing was going to happen. Because of fucking _time travel._

Tucker eyes Carolina’s tense shrug of her shoulders as an answer.

“Alrighty then,” Dr. Grey says, her voice going up a few pitches. “Now, there’s still several factors I can’t determine yet until he wakes up, but everything is looking very good, considering his wound.”

“He has cerebral hypoxia,” Tucker says a little roughly. “How is that _good?”_

Dr. Grey doesn’t seem affected by the salt to his tone. “Consider how this could have gone otherwise, Captain Tucker. He could be in a coma to never wake again and be forced to live on life support, or worse, he could have choked on all that blood and died before even making it to the hospital,” she says, a little too cheerfully. “The bullet hit him _so_ perfectly that this isn’t the case and he is alive. A few millimetres up and you could have lost him right there in that hangar.”

Tucker looks at her and doesn’t say anything. He bites back how he knows that Wash is going to be fucked up when he wakes up, something that she doesn’t know yet.

Carolina is also quiet.

“Okay, cool,” Tucker decides on saying. “Can we please see him?”

Dr. Grey smiles and opens the door, leading them inside. The room is dark except for the light coming in from the hall through the door’s window.

Tucker’s heart beats faster and it feels like his stomach has just dropped to the fucking ground, because there’s Wash. He’s _okay_ . He _is_ alive, the machine beeping calmly next to him proving that. Tucker already knew all of this but he’s so relieved to finally just _see_ him.

Wash lays in bed on his back, his eyes shut. Even though he’s sleeping Tucker can see the darkness under his eyes. His blonde hair is messy, some of it pressed flat on his forehead, probably from his helmet. He’s got an oxygen mask on, but thankfully and surprisingly, no breathing tube shoved down his throat.

As if she can read his mind, Dr. Grey says quietly, “Like I said, he’s doing remarkably well. Even breathing on his own.” She chuckles a bit. “Agent Washington is one of the most badass people I’ve ever met.”

“That, or just too stubborn to die,” Carolina says softly, her voice on the edge of teasing.

Caboose suddenly rushes forward and pops his helmet off as he sits in a chair on one side of Wash’s bed. He grabs Wash’s hand while his eyes run over Wash, taking in every detail.

“He’s really okay,” Caboose says quietly. And again, even though literally everyone already knew that Wash wasn’t going to _die_ , Tucker can’t help but understand Caboose’s statement as relief continues flooding through his veins.

Tucker walks forward, sitting in the chair on the other side of Wash’s bed. He takes his own helmet off, gently settling it on the ground. He looks at Wash again, at the dark roots of his hair growing out, at his dark eyelashes, his freckles standing out against his pale skin, his mouth open slightly as he breathes deeply.

Tucker takes off a glove before slowly taking Wash’s hand into his own for the first time. Wash’s hand is cold so Tucker covers it with both of his hands, squeezing lightly.

He hears Dr. Grey whispering to Carolina before she leaves. Carolina moves in the background, taking a seat in a chair against the wall as she watches over them.

Tucker looks at Wash again, holding his hand a little tighter.

He thinks about what Dr. Grey said. About how this is a better outcome than Wash being gone.

In the silence of the hospital room, Caboose and Carolina’s presence being comforting and relieving all at once, and Wash alive, his pulse drumming under Tucker’s own wrist, Tucker agrees.


	2. Chapter 2

Wash starts to wake up from a deep, dark, dreamless sleep and everything feels _wrong._

His eyes won't open as fast as he'd like them to, his limbs feel heavy, and his mind is groggy and blank on what had happened to get him to this state.

Panic bubbles somewhere in his chest when he realizes he can’t even talk. His throat hurts _so_ bad, and not just the kind where you have a sore throat from allergies or a cold. It’s way more intense, throbbing pain shooting all the way up and down his neck as he tries to form a word.

He breathes deeply through his nose instead to calm down and focuses on getting his eyes open. He finally opens them slowly, his eyelids finding it impossible to open all the way, which isn’t ideal but it’s good enough.

Wash squints into some light coming in from a big window on the opposite side of the room he’s in. His eyes and head hurt from the light. As the seconds tick by he feels like he got hit by another car. 

Maybe that’s what happened. Maybe he _did_ get hit by another car? That would explain the beeping coming from the machine beside him, which tells him he’s in a hospital.

He looks down at his body, which is laying in a bed with a thin blue blanket. He wiggles his toes and they work.

Wash is about to test his fingers next when he realizes one of his hands is pinned down. No, that’s wrong. It isn’t pinned down. 

Someone is _holding_ his hand. 

He lets his head fall to the right to see whose hand is so warm, holding his own.

There’s a man sitting in a chair with one hand holding Wash’s and his face buried into the crook of his elbow of his other arm. He’s bent over, sleeping on the edge of Wash’s bed, dangerously close to his leg.

Wash blinks a little and his eyes adjust on the aqua armor.

_Aqua. Aqua colored armor._

The memories hit him all at once. Wash bleeding out in the snow. Grif and Simmons and Sarge throwing the god damn Meta off a cliff. Epsilon going into the memory unit. Tucker and Caboose saving Wash. Him going to Valhalla with them. Carolina returning. Getting to the Director. Crashing on Chorus. Felix and Locus and _Freckles, shake_ and the Feds and the New Republic and Kimball and Doyle and beating Felix and Hargrove. The Meta’s suit, but aqua. Epsilon… being gone. Temple’s base, Wash getting shot the first time. Time travel and Donut kicking ass and Doc and O’Malley saving him from the labyrinth. And putting the timeline back on track, which meant getting shot again.

Wash tries to say _Tucker_ but he can’t. Instead he squeezes Tucker’s hand.

Somehow, that wakes Tucker up. 

Tucker sits up, looking at his and Wash’s hand, and then looks at Wash, his eyes widening a little.

Wash stares back at him and grins a bit.

“Wash!” Tucker sits up more, scooting his chair forward until it clangs against the bed. “How are you feeling, dude?”

Wash blinks at him and slowly slides his hand out from Tucker’s, his hand instantly getting cold. He uses all of his strength to half-heartedly motion to his throat before his arm flops back down on the bed.

“Oh, shit, right. Uh, let’s get you some water, yeah? You’re probably thirsty as fuck.” 

Tucker jumps up from the chair, seeming anxious but happy at the same time as he bumps into a few things before he grabs a cup of water with a straw. He walks back over and slowly takes the oxygen mask off from around Wash’s mouth and nose, which he hadn’t even realized was there until Tucker’s taking it off. 

Tucker holds the cup in front of Wash and even puts the straw in his mouth. Wash feels his face heat up from being so incapacitated that Tucker has to help him drink through a fucking straw, but he can’t complain and do anything else besides take a slow, painful sip. It hurts to drink but his throat is so dry that it’s relieving.

He drinks for a few seconds before leaning back against the pillow. Everything still hurts, but the water does soothe some dryness in his mouth and throat.

Tucker stares at him, waiting for Wash to say something. Wash just stares at him and doesn’t know how to communicate, _I can’t talk_.

Thankfully, Tucker realizes. “You probably can’t talk, can you?”

Wash shakes his head a little.

“Let me get Dr. Grey. I’ll be right back, okay? She’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Tucker says as he jumps out of his chair and his heavy boots thump against the floor as he leaves the room.

Wash looks around the room with his eyes. It’s bigger than any hospital room he’s ever been in. His eyes land on a piece of paper that’s been left on his lap and he weakly grabs it, lifting his hand to look at it.

Written across it horizontally is, _Dear Wash, thanks for saving the timeline with your throat_ and at the bottom _-Tucker._ He makes some sort of noise as he tries to chuckle. His eyes wander over the paper at all of the little drawings Tucker must have drawn. He recognizes the Valhalla base, their crash site base and the mountains, were those _cats?_ , and finally stick figures of what he assumes is himself, Caboose, and Tucker.

Wash is grinning the whole time he analyses every drawing. Why did Tucker even make him this? It seemed so out of character and more like a Caboose thing to do. Either way, the drawings make him smile even despite the pain in his neck.

The door opens a few minutes later and several people walk in. Dr. Grey, Tucker, Carolina, and Caboose.

Caboose barrels past them, his helmet also off, as he beams at Wash.

“Agent Washington! Good morning!” 

“Caboose, do _not_ fucking hug him!”

“Why not? I think that he would appreciate a hug!”

“Because you’d like, fucking _kill_ him? He’s probably in pain.”

Dr. Grey interrupts Tucker and Caboose arguing by saying very brightly, “Hello, Agent Washington!”

Wash offers a grin to Caboose and Carolina while Dr. Grey walks up to his bed and 

starts to check stuff. Caboose waves enthusiastically, Tucker stands there with his arms crossed as he looks annoyed from Caboose, and Carolina takes off her helmet to give a small grin to Wash.

Dr. Grey checks to make sure his IV is still properly in, she looks at the monitor and writes something down, and then she turns to Wash, smiling brightly.

“I’m sure you’ve realized that you can’t talk yet, which is perfectly normal for your injury! It could take a day or two for you to be able to talk with less pain. You also probably feel very tired and weak which is mostly from all of the fun sleeping drugs you’re on, but also because your body is healing itself. We’re going to discuss your state further when you’re more conscious and feeling better. For now, let’s see that bullet hole!” 

She leans over him, carefully peeling back the huge bandage on his neck. He grimaces from the pain that comes with the movement, his breath hitching a little.

The others watch silently as Dr. Grey inspects his throat.

“You’ve got quite a few stitches so it might get itchy as the wound dries up and scabs over, but please do _not_ scratch or I’ll have to cut your fingers off!” she says cheerfully. She changes the bandage and he sees some blood on the old one when she throws it away. “Now, let’s figure out how you can communicate, hm?”

_“Jesus,” Wash, a very young and naive Wash, says. “I just still can’t believe he was shot in the throat. And survived! That’s crazy, right?! I thought people were supposed to die after getting shot in the throat!”_

_“Relax, Wash,” York tells him, sipping on a cup of coffee with his feet up on the table in one of their lounging areas. He’s out of armor, but Wash isn’t, like usual. “Yes, people do die from getting shot in the throat, but he didn’t and he’s gonna be fine.”_

_“That’s because Maine’s tough, unlike you two,” Carolina says as she walks into the room, also in her armor._

_“Oh Carolina, you know how to warm a man’s heart,” York teases with a smile. “Any updates?”_

_She pushes his feet off the table as she sits across from him. Wash is standing and pacing._

_“Yes, actually,” she says and doesn’t take off her helmet. She pauses before she says, “It looks like he’s not going to be able to talk anymore. There’s too much damage in the vocal cords.”_

_“What?!” Wash shrieks and stops pacing to stare at her. “But-- they can fix him, right? Give him like, speaking aids, or something. Like hearing aids!”_

_“That’s not a thing, Wash,” York says flatly._

_Carolina just shakes her head, ignoring Wash’s dumb suggestion. “He’ll have to communicate some other way. They’re thinking of giving him an AI.”_

Wash’s heart starts to race. He knows it races because the monitor gives it away, beeping quicker. His breathing becomes more shallow and short and he feels like he can’t breathe at all, gasping but making no noise for air.

“What’s wrong with him?” Wash can hear Tucker ask, sounding worried and panicked.

“Agent Washington, I need you to focus on taking deep breaths,” Dr. Grey says to him and Wash locks eyes with her. “I’m going to count to ten and while I do, I want you to breathe in deeply through your nose and out through your mouth until we get there. Let’s start. One…”

He focuses on her counting, trying to slow his heart rate. By five, it has already slowed down as he follows her instructions, breathing deeply even though it irritates his throat. He knows how to do this counting thing as he’s done it countless times after waking up from a nightmare or while in the middle of a panic attack. 

It wasn’t taught to him from his doctors on the Mother of Invention after Epsilon. After waking up with so many nightmares and screaming into the night alone, he’d just taught himself to stay awake and ignored his own problems. It hardened him into the Agent Washington he had been when he met Caboose and Alpha for the first time, and even further when he betrayed them and shot Donut and Lopez. 

Wash didn’t really know the effectiveness of such a simple technique until one night in Valhalla, the first night he experienced a nightmare there around Caboose and Tucker, it had been taught to him. 

Caboose ran in first and Wash was already awake, shaking and sweating and _embarrassed_ but still fucking afraid and unsure of what was real or not and what were his memories or weren’t. And then Tucker ran in, and Wash was shaking so badly under Tucker’s hands on his shoulders that Tucker worriedly yelled at Wash to focus on breathing and then Tucker randomly started counting to 10. He did it twice, counting to a total of 20, because Wash was still too freaked out after the first 10. But it had _worked_. For the first time in god knows how many years, Wash could _breathe_ after a nightmare. He shakily asked Tucker, this person he’d only known for a few days, how he knew to do that, and Tucker just shrugged a little, saying Donut taught it to him in the sand when he would start to think about Junior and panic.

Since then Wash has used the technique often, alternating it sometimes for a different one when he wakes up from deep nightmares and is too confused and scared to focus on breathing and counting. He tells himself his name, where he is, what team he’s on, and members of the team. It usually goes like _Wash, Chorus, Blue, Epsilon, Caboose and Tucker._ But of course, now Epsilon is gone and he’s had to change it.

His heart rate is back to normal by ten and he closes his eyes, letting his body relax into the pillow. He continues breathing deeply to stay calm.

“Great job Agent Washington!” Dr. Grey says enthusiastically. He hears her moving away from his bed. She lowers her voice to talk to the others, but Wash can still hear her. “I think my question might have scared him. Do any of you have any ideas about how he can communicate with us? The only thing I can think of is the good old notepad and pen!”

Wash focuses on her suggestion. Notepad and pen. Notepad and pen. Not an A.I. No one has fucking A.I’s just laying around here, Wash. Just _relax_. 

“He could use his tablet,” Carolina suggests. “Do you know where it is?”

“Probably with his armor in our storage area!” Dr. Grey responds. “Would you kindly retrieve that for him, Agent Carolina?”

Wash keeps his eyes shut. Breathe. Just _breathe._

“Sure,” he hears Carolina respond. “Caboose, why don’t you come with me to help me find it?”

“That sounds like fun! It will be like a treasure hunt!”

The door opens and shuts and then it’s silent. Wash is almost certain he’s been left alone, but his eyes open again and he finds Tucker still standing near the door, looking over at Wash worriedly. Dr. Grey is also in the room, standing at a counter looking over her clipboard. 

Tucker’s face changes when he realizes Wash is looking at him. He covers up his worry with a smile instead, walking over and sitting down again.

“Y’know, Carolina said you’re too stubborn to die, and I think that’s the perfect explanation for how you’ve survived all this shit,” Tucker says with a grin. “You’re a fucking cockroach, dude. Unwilling to die and impossible to kill.” Wash grins back lightly. “Even though we technically already knew you’d survive and all, it’s just reassuring to see you actually awake and…” Tucker pauses and Wash knows the word _okay_ is on the tip of his tongue. It gets a little awkward since they both know he’s not okay, even though Wash feels fairly normal at the moment, just tired. “Just good to see you awake, dude.”

Wash nods in agreement and looks up to meet Tucker’s brown eyes, who are looking back down at him, tired and worried. Wash wonders if Tucker had stayed the whole night. He feels guilty if Tucker had stayed, because that’d mean he’s barely slept. 

They look at each other for a while, Tucker staring into his eyes as if he’s trying to read him. Wash isn’t trying to say anything, though, so they’re just looking at each other quietly. 

After a beat, Wash remembers Tucker’s drawings, and he looks at the paper still in his hand, lifting it up to show Tucker. He raises an eyebrow with a slight smirk.

Tucker looks at the paper and rolls his eyes, his cheeks flushing a little. “Oh, that? Caboose convinced me to make you a card. He made you one too, obviously, it wasn’t _just_ me,” he scoffs and looks around the room. “Where the hell did he put his? Fuck it, he probably still has his and wants to give it to you later.”

Wash puts his hand on Tucker’s armored arm, making the dark man look back to him. Wash mouths _thank you_.

“Yeah, no problem,” Tucker mumbles, looking at the card. “You gonna pretend to keep mine then throw it away when I’m not looking like you do with all of Caboose’s drawings?”

Wash rolls his eyes, grinning lightly. Wash _doesn’t_ throw any of Caboose’s drawings away, but Tucker doesn’t know that. Wash can’t exactly tell him the truth right now either, considering he can’t talk. Instead, he makes a show to fold the paper until it’s a small square and he pretends to put it in a pocket on his chest.

“Fuck you, dude,” Tucker says, although he’s laughing. “Hand it over, I’ll just throw it out for you.”

Tucker moves to grab the paper but Wash moves it out of his reach, shaking his head. 

“You’re telling me you’re keeping my garbage stick figure drawings?”

Wash nods and grins again, making Tucker chuckle. Wash suddenly realizes how many times he’s smiled since waking up. Why was he so fucking happy to wake up with brain damage? Is it because he’s not alone like he was the first time? Because he realizes just how much his friends really care for him? Or… is he already changing?

The smile quickly falls from his face and he has to look away from Tucker to hide the sorrow in his expression. Tucker must have noticed, though, because he’s quiet all of a sudden.

“Alrighty!” Dr. Grey says, breaking the silence that had dawned over them. She walks over to Wash’s bed. “Are you in any pain, Agent Washington? I’m allowed to give you some more pain medication if you are, so please be honest!”

Wash pauses and glances at her and Tucker. Tucker is looking at him as if he never fucking stopped, waiting for Wash’s answer.

His throat and neck are really irritated and hurting. It hurts up to his jaw and down into his chest, and he can’t even swallow water without pain.

He hesitates before nodding to Dr. Grey.

“Let me go get it,” she tells him, returning to the counter. “Now, your body is going to need _plenty_ of rest to heal so that means you need to sleep. I’m sure you’re tired anyways, even after such a long sleep after your surgery, but it’s normal to be tired and sleep a lot after such a demanding injury. This stuff _is_ going to make you sleepy but it’ll help with the pain and will definitely make sleeping more comfortable.”

Wash’s heart rate picks up again because he thought he could get away with just sleeping at nights in the hospital, but obviously that wasn’t going to be the case after getting shot in the goddamn _throat_. He shouldn’t be so quick to assume things.

He’s happy he can’t remember his dreams from his last sleep from the surgery onwards, or happy that he didn’t dream at all, but he _knows_ hospital drug sleeps are _deep_. And deep sleeps are the worst for his nightmares. Those are the ones he wakes up from not knowing who he is, or where he is, and who anyone else is or what’s going on. They’re the kind of sleeps that make him wake up with a gun in his hand, grabbed from under his pillow, and he threatens whoever woke him up, or they’re the ones where instead of threatening someone with a gun, he tackles them to the ground and wraps his hands around their throat. Or sometimes, they’re the ones he wakes up from where he’s shaking so bad he can’t do either of those things but doesn’t _want_ to do either of those things anyways because tears are streaming down his cheeks and he crawls backwards until his back hits the wall and he’s _terrified_ of the person in front of him who is just trying to calm him down.

There’d been too many incidents from those deep sleeps. Some with Caboose, some with Carolina, a lot with Tucker. Even once with Simmons when he was briefly on the Blue team at the crash site, and the crying one with Donut when they’d been taken to the Fed’s base by Locus.

“...Wash? Are you listening to me?”

Wash blinks at Tucker, who is sitting close to him, his ungloved hand on Wash’s arm.

“It’s gonna be fine, dude,” Tucker tells him.

Wash looks at him, still clearly unsure about the pain medication.

Tucker gives him a look and sighs. “ _Wash_. Take the fucking meds. You’re in pain and you gotta heal, like Dr. Grey said.”

Wash glances at Dr. Grey, who seems to be pretending to still be getting things ready since it’s been a few minutes.

“Look,” Tucker says quietly. “If you’re scared about waking up, don’t be. I’m gonna be here. If I’m not here then it’ll be Caboose, or Carolina, or fucking _Sarge_ . You’re gonna be fine and you won’t be _alone_. I promise. Just please take this shit?”

Eventually, Wash nods slowly, his heart rate slowing down again. Part of him really fucking hates that everyone knows when he’s freaking the fuck out, but the other part of him, with Tucker’s hand warm on his arm, is really fucking glad he doesn’t have to act like he’s okay.

He trusts Tucker, or any of his other friends, really, more than he trusts himself.

“He’s ready,” Tucker says to Dr. Grey.

Dr. Grey walks over with a needle and when she leans over to put it into his IV, Wash moves his arm, making Tucker move his hand from it. Instead, Wash reaches out, grabbing Tucker’s hand and squeezing. He looks away from the needle and to Tucker instead.

Tucker must see the panic in Wash’s eyes again, because he squeezes Wash’s hand back and smiles, saying, “Dude, I wish I could get some of this shit for myself. Caboose or Carolina or _you_ are _always_ interrupting my naps and shit! Do I need to go see Grif for napping tips or something? ‘Cause I _know_ that guy is _always_ napping in the weirdest places since he disappears for literally hours at a time!”

Wash chuckles lightly as Dr. Grey pulls away.

“All done!”

Wash looks at her and then his IV, confused on how she did it so quickly. Then he realizes that she _wasn’t_ quick, but that Tucker just distracted him.

“Let me know if there’s _any_ complications. Okay? _Anything_ , Agent!” Dr. Grey says with a smile that seems a little threatening.

Wash nods at her, already feeling the effects of the medication as he feels his body relaxing, the pain slowly easing away. She smiles again before leaving the room.

“Dude, you’re allowed to relax,” Tucker says to him. He’s still holding Wash’s hand. They’ve held hands twice now today. That’s more times than they’d ever held hands in the years they’d known each other. Not that there’s really any reason for them to hold hands, other than if one of them is hurt.

There was one time Wash held Tucker’s hand without him knowing. When Tucker was asleep in a hospital bed after being stabbed by Felix and it was the first time Wash had seen him. Wash was also recovering from his own wounds but he had to make sure Tucker was okay despite everyone telling him he was. He had to _see_ for himself and snuck out of his own bed. He had looked down at Tucker who looked so young, laying there in a hospital bed recovering from a stab wound to the stomach, even though Tucker was nearing his late twenties and wasn’t that young. Wash gently took Tucker’s hand, feeling it warm and in his own. He’d been _terrified_ that they’d lost Tucker just for some dumb stream to expose Felix and Locus. But Tucker’s plan worked, and they did it, and Tucker _survived_. Wash really didn’t know what he would’ve done if he lost Tucker, the man he’d started personally training and saw grow into a leader and the same man who was becoming a closer friend to Wash everyday.

Wash admits he’s a little shocked that Tucker hasn’t let go of his hand at this point, but he’s also glad Tucker doesn’t let go.

Wash makes a gesture away from his own mouth with his free hand, trying to tell Tucker to _talk, just talk about anything, please, while I fall asleep_. Tucker looks confused but then Wash rolls his eyes and makes a talking motion with his hand and points to Tucker. 

Tucker seems to understand as he nods and starts to say, “We found out Lopez traveled back from the literal beginning of time. He’s fine, by the way. Well, I guess we don’t _really_ know that, since no one speaks Spanish. Grif technically does, but I don’t know how great he is at it, and he’s also too fucking lazy to translate for Lopez, so poor robot is still stuck on his own holding all of the secrets to the universe. You think God exists, Wash? Or was there a big bang? Or both? If God exists, then I’ve got some shit I wanna say to him…”

Tucker keeps talking and Wash genuinely tries to listen, but his eyes keep slipping shut until they stay shut and he falls into a dark slumber.

  
  


Tucker stops talking once he’s certain Wash is asleep, which only takes a couple of minutes before Wash is breathing deeply and slowly and his face has relaxed again. 

He looks over Wash’s features, which Tucker feels like he hasn’t stopped doing since Wash woke up. Tucker’s worried and he can’t help it. He feels guilty, worried, sad, and angry all at once. 

His thoughts are cut short when the door flies open and Tucker turns sharply, shushing Caboose who has walked in with a big smile, holding Wash’s tablet in his hand with his helmet tucked under his arm. Carolina trails in behind him, gently closing the door.

“Oh,” Caboose whispers. “Agent Washington is napping!”

“Yeah. Just leave his tablet,” Tucker whispers.

Caboose puts the tablet down on a small table next to Wash’s bed.

“I did not get to hug him or give him his card yet,” Caboose says, visibly sulking.

“Sorry, Caboose.” Tucker feels slightly bad that he practically hogged all of Wash’s consciousness to himself, but he and Carolina both probably figured it’d be best to let Caboose and Wash talk later when Wash was feeling a bit better, hence why she ushered him out to go look for his tablet. “He’ll probably wake up again in a few hours.”

Caboose smiles at that. “You’re right, Tucker! Maybe he will be hungry. I should find him some soup.”

“Why don’t you do that later?” Carolina asks. “So then the soup is still warm.”

“Good idea! I will make a reminder to get soup soon.”

Caboose sits on a bench near the window and plunges his helmet back on his head. He doesn’t talk again but just looks around, probably looking at stuff in his helmet even though he doesn’t need to move his head around so much to do that.

Carolina walks over to Wash’s bed to stand beside Tucker’s chair. Her helmet is still off. He glances at her to see her looking at Wash, and then their hands, where Tucker is still holding Wash’s, but only briefly.

“He freaked out twice already,” Tucker quietly says to her so that Caboose can’t hear them. “He’s already going downhill, and he was only awake for like, 30 minutes.”

“Tucker.” Carolina looks at him with her piercing green eyes. Her hair is just above her shoulders, having grown out from when she cut it before they crash landed on Chorus. The red in her hair is fading and Tucker imagines that’s because she hasn’t had time to dye it recently. “We need to be _strong_ for him, so stop your _own_ freaking out. What was the second thing he got upset over while I was gone?”

“He was scared to accept the pain meds, probably because he didn’t want to sleep.”

“Okay,” Carolina says. “Think about that. Wash has never liked sleeping, so of course he’d reject it now too. Right?”

“Right…”

“So, and as depressing it is for me to say it, that’s just a _normal_ Wash reaction,” she clarifies for him. “He’s barely been awake, so we don’t know what kind of stuff we’re going to be dealing with yet. You can’t be making assumptions.”

“But we _do_ know there’s gonna be things wrong with him,” Tucker says, looking up at her. “ _You’re_ the one who told us about that stuff. _You_ experienced it, like him suddenly changing moods when he hit his head, or the cat story being told repeatedly.”

“Tucker,” Carolina starts, meeting his eyes. “This might be our regular timeline, the one that was _supposed_ to happen all along, but it’s still _different_ than what I first experienced with Wash’s cerebral hypoxia, so that doesn’t mean it’s all going to be the same. Back then it was just me and him during his recovery, but this time there’s so many different factors, like you and Caboose being here. So we actually _don’t_ know what’s going to happen this time with his cerebral hypoxia. Things could be better, or worse, but we’re _not_ going to _assume_ until we know, all right?”

Tucker stops to consider this. He hadn’t really thought about it like that, how this technically _is_ different than what Carolina had experienced with Wash before. Tucker isn’t sure if it’s good or bad because she’s right about it all. Wash could possibly be okay save for a few memory lapses, or he could be completely worse than the first time. 

“But…” Tucker speaks up. “ _Just a normal Wash reaction_ doesn’t explain his reaction to Dr. Grey’s question, does it?”

“Wash got upset over Dr. Grey’s question most likely because it reminded him of Maine,” she answers.

“Maine? You mean the Meta?”

“No, Maine. The man who came before the Meta,” she corrects him. “He was shot in the throat nine times and couldn’t talk afterwards. That’s why he was given Sigma, so he could communicate. It’s also where everything took a turn for the worst in the Project.”

“So... he thinks he’s going to turn into the Meta? But it’s not like they’re gonna give him an A.I. to communicate. He’ll be able to talk again in a few days. Why would he even consider that?”

“That’s just how Wash thinks,” Carolina says, a sadness to her voice. “Ever since Epsilon, Wash’s brain has always… connected the wrong dots. He assumes the worst is going to happen to him or because of him. And it’s not his fault. He was left alone and betrayed so many times by the Project. By… all of the agents.” She pauses, glancing down at Tucker. “Has he ever told you any of this? It’s not my place to if he hasn’t.”

“He’s talked about it here and there but it’s always so vague,” Tucker says quietly to her. His hand is still holding Wash’s. He’s scared to let go, or to wake him up. “I mean, only after the first _hundred_ nightmares with us did he _finally_ open up about Epsilon, and that wasn’t until a few weeks after we united the Feds and the New Republic.”

“Well, that’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to him,” Carolina says. “I’m happy he’s told you.” Tucker hears some fondness in her tone. 

“I just…” Tucker starts. “I hope he can still tell me things, you know? Like when he’s scared, or can’t remember something, or is confused.” Tucker has to look at Wash instead of saying it to Carolina. “This is just so _shitty_ and I wanna be there for him this time. I don’t want him to go through it alone.”

Her hand comes onto his armored shoulder and Tucker leans into its comfort.

“Whatever happens, we can’t fix him, Tucker,” she admits, “but everything you just said is how we help him and be there for him.”

They stay there for a few moments before she removes her hand and walks over to the other side of Wash’s bed, sitting down in the chair. 

Both of them stare at Wash, and Tucker makes sure he doesn’t let go of Wash’s hand, even when he lays his head down again on the edge of the bed to try and get a few more hours of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post two chapters in one day because the first one barely had any Tuckington interaction. :o)
> 
> Also, no clue if any of what Carolina said about the timeline is true? But let's go with yes?
> 
> Give me a few days for the next chapter!
> 
> Find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	3. Chapter 3

Wash wakes up again what must be a few hours later because the sun is coming in through the window at a different angle. It’s no longer shining into his eyes and giving him a migraine like it was earlier.

This time he remembers everything instantly. It doesn’t take a minute of confusion for it all to come back. It’s there right away and that gives him some relief.

Caboose is at a small table in the corner, still in his armor but his helmet missing. He’s playing some sort of game with Sarge, who also has his helmet off. They’re flicking a piece of paper back and forth.

“Oh, hey, dude. You’re awake.”

Wash jumps a little and looks to his left to find Grif lounging in a chair and eating some chips with his boots on the edge of Wash’s bed. How Wash didn’t notice his feet immediately upon waking up, he’s not too sure. 

“You know, I was starting to think Tucker was lying when he said you were awake this morning,” Grif continues. “I personally thought that you were dead this entire time and no one noticed. You’ve been out for a _long_ time, man. It’s almost 2000 hours.”

Simmons is sitting next to Grif in another chair, reading a book. He glances up under his glasses.

“Wash, hey! Grif, get your fucking feet off his bed!” Simmons shoves Grif’s feet off Wash’s bed. Grif rolls his eyes. “How do you feel?”

Wash gives him a thumbs up, considering he actually doesn’t feel too bad at the moment.

“Agent Washington!” Caboose stands up, making his chair go flying back, when he realizes Wash is awake. He grabs a few things and rushes over to Wash’s bed. He holds out Wash’s tablet and a folded piece of paper. “Happy waking up!”

Wash takes the two things and sits up carefully, trying not to strain his neck. 

“Open your card! It’s from me,” Caboose says proudly.

Putting down his tablet, Wash looks at the card. It’s folded in half, unlike Tucker’s was. The front of Caboose’s card says _four agent Washington!!!_ written messily. There’s blue drawings all over the front. He opens it and there’s some more writing. _I hope u feel beter soon and do not forget me! but if you do that is ok bcuz I am good at rememebering others for them. love Michael J. Cabose :)_.

Wash grins at Caboose and then turns on his tablet quickly. He closes all of the notes, training schedules, inventories, and other apps that he clearly hasn’t touched since the Chorus war. He finds a basic app where he can type his response. He writes a quick, “Thanks, Caboose,” and shows him, which makes Caboose smile brightly.

“You are welcome! Also, I brought you some soup!”

Caboose bounces away to the table.

“Hey there, Agent freckles,” Sarge gruffly says, walking over to the bed and grabbing the food tray. Sarge swings it around to hover over Wash’s lap. Wash blushes at the nickname, sitting up a little more. “Good to see you up and runnin’! The Blue team was gettin’ a little uneven compared to Red, considerin’ we have Carolina _and_ Locus, thanks to Grif.”

“You’re welcome, Sarge,” Grif comments.

“Wasn’t a compliment!” Sarge snaps.

“The Red team is still 6 to 4 even with Wash awake,” Grif says, unaffected by Sarge. “I wouldn’t say it’s _even_ now.”

Wash tilts his head, counting in his head. 4 on the Blue team makes sense. Wash, Tucker, Caboose, and Kai. The Red team is Sarge, Grif, Simmons, Donut, and Lopez. Carolina and Locus would be 7. Wash ignores the mistake and writes on his tablet instead, “Since when are Carolina and Locus Red team?”

In the background, Caboose is trying to remove the lid off a styrofoam bowl. He struggles and is holding the bowl is the crook of his arm, tugging at the lid with all of his might. Lopez, who is _there,_ to Wash’s surprise, walks over, snatching the bowl from Caboose’s hands and opening it for him.

“Locus because he somehow put up with Grif’s lonesome nonsense after he betrayed us--” Sarge is saying.

“Didn’t betray you,” Grif corrects him. “I just didn’t _go_ with you.”

“--so he’s _clearly_ a Red, and Carolina because the Blue’s already got a Freelancer!”

“Of course, sir,” Simmons says, “but aren’t the Reds a little… stacked now?”

“Of course not, Simmons!” Sarge exclaims. “The Blues outnumber us forever since they secretly had a lil A.I. guy on their team for years!”

“Yeahhh,” Caboose says as he brings the soup over, walking slowly. “Church basically counted as 3 people.” Caboose carefully puts it on the tray in front of Wash. “Here you go! Be careful, it’s hot!”

Wash grabs the spoon, eager to eat since it’s been… well, he can’t even remember when he last ate. He’s about to start when the door flies open and Carolina, Kai and Tucker walk in.

“Hey everyone! Hey, cop, good to see you’re up,” Kai jokes to Wash. He gives her a little nod.

“What’d you guys have for dinner?” Grif asks. Wash assumes that’s where the three had been.

“Just some shitty hospital cafeteria food. I got you a chocolate bar from a vending machine, though!” Kai tosses Grif a chocolate bar who smiles at her and rips it open. She takes out her own and starts snacking too. Wash is a little jealous they get to have solid food and he’s here, taking small spoonfuls of flavored water since the noodles and pieces of chicken irritate his throat. 

“So, what’s everyone bugging Wash about in here?” Tucker asks.

“How Locus and Carolina are Red team!” Caboose chimes in.

“Ooooh, Locus is a Red, huh?” Kai asks, her eyes gleaming mischievously. “I can’t believe I’m gonna start fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Grif, control your family member!” Sarge exclaims, looking panicked. 

“She’s not gonna fuck Locus, chill,” Grif responds, eating his chocolate. 

“You can’t stop me, Dex!”

“ _How_ is Carolina Red team?” Tucker asks. “She’s _Blue_ team.”

“Carolina’s a Red!” Sarge corrects him. 

They talk about her as if she’s not right there in the room. Wash glances at Carolina while they talk, but she’s just watching them with amusement flickering across her face. 

“Sarge, she’s literally the same color as I am. Her armor is bluer than mine, if anything.”

“Nope. Her armor is turquoise, which is close to green, which is close to purple, which is made with red!”

“That’s all _wrong_ ,” Tucker argues. “First, she’s cyan. Second, green is _not_ close to purple, and third, purple is _half_ blue!”

“Does that mean Doc is on Blue team!?” Caboose asks excitedly. “I always thought of him as a Blue!”

“No!” Sarge and Tucker both snap.

“He’s neutral!” Sarge adds. Wash glances back and forth between them quietly while they argue. He finds it pretty entertaining, honestly, when he’s not involved or trying to get them to train. The Reds and Blues usually argued at the most innapropriate of times, but right now it made pretty good entertainment. “That’s even _worse_ than being a Blue! Being indecisive is not a choice!”

“That’s the _entire point_ of being neutral!” Simmons interjects then clears his throat and adds calmly, “Sir.”

“I think Carolina is a Red because she has red hair and because she _likes_ to have red hair,” Caboose says.

Everyone stops arguing and stares at Caboose, Sarge mostly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“How didn’t I think of that before a Blue?!” Sarge cries. “She’s obviously a Red because she chooses to dye her hair red!”

“Is anyone going to ask me _my_ opinion on this?” Carolina speaks up, her tone light and teasing as she smirks. 

Wash looks at her curiously, actually wanting to know what team she would choose. As dumb as the reasoning is, her armor _is_ cyan, but her hair usually _is_ pretty firetruck red, even though it’s faded right now.

“Oh yeah! Go on, Carolina, tell them how you’re a Blue,” Tucker says, smugly lifting his chin up at everyone else.

“Well…” she starts, looking at everyone. She runs a hand through her hair, looking at the red tips that are darker than her blonde roots coming in. “I think I’m gonna have to go with Caboose on this one. I dye my hair red because it’s my favorite color.”

“ _What_ ?!” Tucker just about screams while Wash gapes at Carolina. Even though she _has_ been dyeing her hair for literal years, he didn’t think she’d voluntarily choose Red team.

“Holy fuck,” Grif says, his eyes wide.

“Yeah, suck it Blue!” Simmons cheers.

“I knew it! I knew it!” Sarge is shouting.

“Jesús, no puedo creerlo,” Lopez voices from the back of the room.

“Yaaaay!” Caboose exclaims. “What are we yelling about?!”

Wash looks at all of them, at the Reds and even Kai cheering excitedly, at Caboose clapping happily. He can’t help but slightly chuckle at Tucker’s reaction, who looks betrayed, confused, and flabbergasted all at once.

“You’ve betrayed the greenish-blue family forever,” Tucker says to her. She pats him on the shoulder, smirking at the commotion she’s caused.

Wash is still so used to Freelancer Carolina, or even I’m-going-to-kill-the-Director Carolina that sometimes he forgets this is her now. This Carolina is relaxed and has come out of her shell so much since then. He still remembers the smile in her voice when her and Church rescued them from Felix’s betrayal. _That’s_ the Carolina he knows now, and he’s so damn happy for her to have this family. He feels guilty over any anger he once felt towards her for keeping his injury a secret, but he knows that they’re okay. She was the first person he said I love you to in… years. The last person he said that to might have been his mother before he enlisted in the war, which feels like a lifetime ago.

He doesn’t realize he’s grinning at her until she meets his eyes and gives a genuine smile back. She moves his tray out of the way since he’s done eating and he lays back against his pillow, listening to everyone talk.

The room is still rowdy and a new energy has come over it as Sarge excitedly talks about how Carolina will need a bedroom in the Red hall at their new living quarters with the other soldiers, which Wash has yet to see and is actually excited to once he leaves the hospital. Grif and Simmons talk about donating her some of their red wardrobe they’ve collected over the years, which Wash has seen and used some of himself. Maroon and orange hoodies, sweatpants, and even socks. 

Tucker sits in a chair next to Wash’s bed, huffing out a sigh. 

“Can’t believe she betrayed me like this,” he says to Wash as they both watch Carolina talk to Caboose.

Wash types up a reply, showing Tucker. “If you think about it, she really belongs with them.”

Tucker reads it and snorts, saying, “Yeah, I guess her hair is pretty damn red most of the time. I should look into getting her more hair dye.” Wash nods. Carolina would probably love getting her hands on more red hair dye. He briefly remembers watching York help her dye it in Freelancer, getting dye all over her bathroom floor and tub as he rinsed it out for her. She was _furious_ and yelling at him the entire time but York was taking each insult and smack with a laugh, telling her to relax and that it looked like a professional did it. Wash was sitting on the counter, watching and definitely not helping because he was a little more scared of Carolina’s yelling than York was, but he was grinning and laughing too, especially when she looked up and her entire forehead and ears were dyed red. He and York had never laughed so hard during their entire time on the ship.

Wash’s train of thought suddenly stops and his heart stops, or quickens, or both, and his entire brain just starts malfunctioning as Tucker runs his hand through Wash’s hair. Thank god it’s loud in the room because Wash knows his heart rate monitor is beeping faster.

“We should find you some bleach and hair dye too,” Tucker’s saying, but Wash doesn’t really acknowledge anything he says as Tucker rakes his hand through his hair again. He knows he’s red because his face feels hot. “Jesus, I never realized how dark your roots are.”

Wash still doesn’t move or make a sound or type anything out on his tablet. His heart is still racing, and he even catches Grif asking, “What the _fuck_ is that noise?” since he’s sitting right next to the monitor, but thankfully Simmons doesn’t even respond to him and continues arguing with Grif about how maroon is a better color than orange, which distracts Grif again and he jumps back in the argument. 

He makes it his goal to get his heart rate under control and just focuses on the fingers that keep going through his hair, pushing hair off his forehead, running over his scalp and loosening knots through the ends. He focuses on the touch and how unfamiliar but good it is. His eyes fall shut because it feels so good and no ones touched, let alone _played_ with his hair in probably a decade. 

“Your hair’s getting so damn long,” Tucker mumbles so only Wash can hear him, and he feels oddly close to Wash. “You should get a haircut soon. You’d probably feel like a new person after getting rid of all this.” Tucker ruffles his hair for effect.

Wash manages to hum softly, the most noise he’s made being awake yet. His eyes are still closed and he feels like he could fall asleep again even though it feels like he just woke up. 

Tucker’s hand is at the back of his head now, working on knots that probably came from his helmet and then laying in a bed for over 24 hours. It feels _so_ good and he’s fucking falling asleep sitting up with his head being supported by Tucker’s hand. Wash doesn’t even notice when the room quiets down, including his heart rate monitor, and people are whispering and booted feet are shuffling around and the door opens and closes.

Wash opens his eyes tiredly a few minutes later after just enjoying the feeling of Tucker’s fingers in his hair. He finds everyone gone, except for Tucker, who doesn’t say anything while he works on a big knot at the back of Wash’s head, using both of his hands now. Wash is a little sad they’re all gone, but he appreciates the quietness too.

“Where’d they go?” Wash wonders, showing Tucker his tablet.

“Well, you were practically falling asleep in my hands so the Reds left for the night,” Tucker says with a grin that makes Wash blush. “Carolina went with them to get Caboose settled in since she doesn’t trust the Reds to babysit. She’s gonna come back, though.”

Wash gives a slight nod while Tucker keeps working on his hair.

“I could probably cut it for you after you get outta here,” Tucker comments with a grin.

Wash types on his tablet, “I think I’d trust Donut more than you to cut my hair.”

When Tucker reads the response, he doesn’t chuckle or laugh or crack a smile or exclaim, “Hey!” like Wash was expecting him to. In fact, the smile that was there before falls from his face. Wash awkwardly puts the tablet down as Tucker’s hands leave his hair. Tucker doesn’t move far, though. His chair is still as close to Wash’s bed as possible and he leans forward, looking a little torn.

The silence quickly gets uncomfortable and Wash wishes he could fill it by talking. Did Wash hit some nerve that he didn’t know of? Does Tucker not like Donut? No, he wouldn’t have missed that. Besides, no one in their friend group dislikes anyone else in the group. It’d be too obvious. 

When Tucker still looks sad, is that what that expression is? Wash quickly types, “It was a joke,” feeling guilty, because he doesn’t want Tucker to think he doesn’t trust him with something as silly as his hair. Wash trusts Tucker with his entire life, for god’s sake.

Tucker looks at the tablet when Wash taps his arm, reading what Wash wrote. Tucker shakes his head, as if he’s coming back to after zoning out. “No, no, I know, dude. Sorry. It wasn’t your joke.” Tucker pauses and looks at Wash, meeting his own confused grey ones. “Look, Wash… Donut and Doc left.”

“Left? Left where?” Wash types out.

“They left Chorus,” Tucker explains. “I’m not sure where they were planning on going, but Donut said he wanted to travel. He doesn’t know when they’ll be back.” Wash doesn’t have a response to type out so Tucker keeps talking. “After everything we’ve put them through, being assholes then needing them to save us, they deserve it, right? An escape from all this shit?”

Wash nods as he realizes that’s why Grif counted 6 and not 7 people on Red team. Then he thinks about how Donut and Doc _do_ deserve it, especially after Wash never really mended with Doc after his team up with the Meta. Still, a part of him feels sad, _really_ sad, mostly because he didn’t get to say thanks.

Wash types out exactly that for Tucker to read. “I didn’t get to tell Doc thank you for saving me from the labyrinth. Or Donut. I wanted to tell him thanks. For… everything.”

“I knew you’d say that so I told him for you,” Tucker says and Wash’s heart warms at how well Tucker knows him. “Trust me, he knows, Wash, and I’m sure Doc knows too. Donut also told me to tell you goodbye, and that he had fun time traveling with you. Which is weird, because that shit was _not_ fun. I still don’t fucking understand anything that happened.”

Wash chuckles a bit. “When I think about it too much my head starts to hurt.”

“Well, yeah, dude, but that’s probably from getting shot in the throat,” Tucker jokes and Wash lightly chuckles, and just like that they’re back to normal. Wash feels happier already. He’s happy Doc and Donut are traveling the world. He’s happy he’s awake, and not dead, and sitting up in his bed to look at Tucker.

He’s happy Tucker is here. Ever since they were separated then reunited during the Chorus civil war they’d only gotten closer and Wash never took Tucker’s company for granted anymore. In fact, he revelled in it.

“How are you feeling, anyways?” Tucker asks, looking at Wash with curious brown eyes. “Do you want more pain meds? And be _honest_ this time, dude.”

Wash shakes his head while typing an answer. “No, I’m okay. Honestly. I think I’ll be able to sleep on my own tonight.”

“Okay, good.”

“Speaking of sleeping, have you even slept? Or left the hospital?” Wash wonders.

Tucker looks away while he answers, drawing back from the side of Wash’s bed to lean back in his chair casually. Wash reads his body language as defensive. “Nah, I’ve been just hanging around with the guys.”

Wash gives him a confused look. “None of them have left yet? They’ve all been here since yesterday?”

Tucker reads his response and looks away again. “Well, the Reds left last night, but Carolina, Caboose and I stayed overnight.”

So Tucker _hasn’t_ slept, basically. Wash feels guilty that Tucker and Carolina and Caboose have just been hanging around, waiting for him. He was happy before, to not have been alone, but now he just feels bad. He remembers waking up earlier this morning with Tucker fast asleep on the side of his bed, holding his hand, and he realizes that Tucker probably hasn’t slept at all besides that. 

He starts to type a reply, his hands not typing fast enough as he tries to write out an apology and insist that they should’ve gone home last night, wherever that currently is. But his typing is fast and loud and a little chaotic, just like Wash would be if he could talk at the moment, trying to sputter out that they shouldn’t have been there for him and should’ve been resting, considering Wash wasn’t even awake until this morning. But Tucker grabs his tablet. 

Tucker reads the response Wash had started to type, some pathetic apology and reasons why Carolina and Tucker should leave for tonight at least.

Tucker snorts and just deletes all the words Wash had typed out. Wash reaches out to try and snatch it back to insist some more that they should go, _Tucker_ should go rest properly instead of being here, but Tucker holds it out of his reach.

“For fucks sake, Wash!” Tucker snaps and is actually looking at Wash angrily, leaving him a little surprised. “You got _shot_ so just let us be fucking _here_ for you! Stop worrying about how much we’ve slept or ate like we’re fucking kids! So what if maybe we have to sleep in uncomfortable positions in a chair, or on the goddamn floor? It doesn’t matter to us. Just _accept_ that we are just trying to be here for you because we’re fucking worried about you and don’t wanna leave you alone!”

Wash looks back at him, still surprised, but now caught between guilt and appreciation. Tucker still looks angry as he hands Wash his tablet back. 

“I’m sorry,” Wash types out.

“Dude,” Tucker breathes out a sigh of annoyance, looking disappointed. “Don’t apologize for _any_ of this.”

The door opens and Dr. Grey walks in. She smiles when she sees the two of them look over at her.

“Hello you two,” she says cheerfully. “Captain Tucker, I would like to speak with my patient. Alone, please!”

Wash watches as Tucker stands up, grabbing his helmet as he does. He notices how Tucker seems eager to go since he doesn’t even argue or ask to stay. His posture is awkward and tense as he moves to the door. Tucker probably needs some space from Wash, which he understands, still feeling bad for their little argument.

Dr. Grey walks over to Wash’s bed, sitting right on the edge of it near his feet. 

Tucker hesitates in the doorway, looking over at Wash. He looks like he’s trying to find the right words but settles on, “I’ll see you later.”

Wash doesn’t even have the time to nod before Tucker’s gone. He looks down at his tablet, at the words _I’m sorry_ . He feels guilty still, wishing he could just show Tucker the words again, _I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry_. 

“I’m happy to see you’ve been communicating with your friends,” Dr. Grey says, breaking him out of his horrible guilt bubble.

Wash nods and responds, “It’s nice being able to communicate but I still wish I could talk.”

“I know, Agent Washington, but I wouldn’t be so surprised if you would be able to talk tomorrow or the following day since you’re progressing so well!”

“You can call me Washington or Wash,” he informs her. “I dropped the Agent a long time ago.”

“All righty, Wash. You can call me Emily then,” she says with a bright smile, holding her clipboard. “How are you feeling today?”

“Pretty good, actually. Not as tired or in as much pain as earlier.”

“That’s great! Now Wash, have you experienced any lapses in memory, any problems moving parts of your body, or any other weird symptoms like that?”

He pauses. He knows where this is going, and his mood is going significantly downhill ever since Tucker looked at him with disappointment. 

“When I first woke up after surgery this morning it took me a minute to remember everything, but that’s all I’ve really noticed.”

Dr. Grey nods, looking down at her clipboard as she writes some notes. “Now, there is something I would like to tell you regarding your injury.” Her voice gets serious as she pushes her glasses up to rest on top of her head. Wash just nods, waiting for her to tell him what he already knows. “Wash, when you were shot, you went a few minutes without oxygen going to your brain. You have suffered from something called cerebral hypoxia.”

Wash remembers when Carolina first told him and how angry he was. But now he’s not angry. He feels dread and sadness and he kind of hates that he’s alone after hearing it again.

“There are many consequences and side effects from an injury like this, but because you haven’t been awake long enough, I can’t determine how much you’ll suffer from this,” Dr. Grey continues saying. She looks at him and he can see the sympathy practically radiating off of her. He can’t imagine ever having to be a doctor and telling people they have brain damage. “It is entirely possible you may not even suffer from extreme consequences, and if you do, it could be as early as tomorrow or as far as next month when you notice something.”

Wash hesitates before he types a question for her. “What are some of the effects?”

“I’ve already mentioned two to you, which are lapses in memory and difficulty moving certain body parts, but the latter would be an extreme case, which I don’t believe is you. If you’d like, we could test it out anyways.”

Wash looks down. He already knows his body is working since it worked the first time this happened. He nods anyways because it would feel nice to stand up. Dr. Grey gets up, putting her clipboard down as she helps him to his feet slowly. He has one hand on the bed and she’s holding his other arm, keeping him steady. His legs feel weak from being in bed for the last day but it does feel nice to stand. Wash eventually takes a couple of steps around the room with her hands still on his arm. He tries not to move his upper body as much because his neck definitely still hurts, but it’s nice to get his legs moving.

They walk back over to the bed and he gets back under the covers, feeling cold from the floor.

“Even though everything is working, that doesn’t mean you won’t have problems with things like coordination, perception, and judgement,” Dr. Grey tells him softly. 

“If they are affected, would I be able to learn them again?” Wash asks.

“Again, I don’t know the extent of your injury so I can’t tell you for sure,” she responds sadly. “The only way to find out is by falling back into your old routines. Working out and training are places to begin, but you won’t be able to do that for at least a few weeks. Of course, when you get back into things we’ll have appointments to discuss how you’re doing and monitor your progress.”

Wash stares at his tablet, trying to take everything in. He didn’t know any of this because Carolina didn’t know everything about his injury, not that he expected her to, but hearing it now is hitting him a lot harder than when Carolina told him.

He slowly starts to type something else. When he finishes, he stops, unsure if he even wants to show her. But he knows he should, so he flips it around for Dr. Grey to read.

“I already have nightmares and problems with my memory because of Epsilon. Will these things become worse?”

Dr. Grey frowns and her dark, almost black eyes, meet his. His hands are visibly shaking and he curls them into fists in his lap to try and make them stop.

“It’s… very possible, Wash,” she says gently and quietly. “Considering you already had problems this morning.”

“But that could’ve just been my normal memory failing me?” he wonders.

“Yes, it could have been.” Dr. Grey pauses for a second, looking sad. “Look, Wash, I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you. I really wish I did, but brain injuries like this are just… difficult to assess until we see more from you. I really wish it wasn’t like that, but all we can do is wait for now.”

Wash types out one last thing. A simple, “Thank you,” to let her know he’s done talking. He puts the tablet down and looks away, avoiding her eyes as he tries to come to terms with everything new he learned.

Dr. Grey stays for a minute, but he doesn’t look at her and he just really wants to be alone now, so she takes her leave, letting the door close quietly behind her.

As soon as she’s gone he feels his throat clenching and his face is warm as tears fill his eyes. He clenches his jaw and his fists again, refusing to cry. He would _not_ cry. Not over this. 

No one returns to his room for the next hour that he’s awake. Carolina doesn’t come back to check on him, Caboose doesn’t return to try and see if he can hug Wash yet, the Reds don’t noisily barge in, and Tucker doesn’t come in to just sit next to Wash’s bed and hold his hand, or play with his hair, or tell him stories as he falls asleep.

When Wash does fall asleep, he’s alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, every update will take a few days to a week to be published. 
> 
> Sorry for treating Wash like this. my poor baby
> 
> Thank you for the kudos, bookmarks, and comments! I appreciate you all dearly <3
> 
> Find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)! 
> 
> See you next update. :)


	4. Chapter 4

“I’ll see you later.” Tucker leaves Wash’s room and storms off down the hallway.

He doesn’t know where to go so he just walks, gripping his helmet a bit too tightly in his hands. He keeps imagining the look on Wash’s face when Tucker yelled at him. It was _still_ full of guilt, which is what Tucker was trying to get across that Wash _shouldn’t_ be feeling.

He could barely even look at Wash as he left, feeling too hot-headed and emotional and not wanting to see that look on his face again. When Tucker did glance at him as he left Wash was already looking at him, his stupid grey eyes full of stupid guilt, his eyebrows knitted together by hurt and worry. 

Tucker was still angry. Angry at Wash, angry at the whole situation. Part of him was even angry at Church too for some reason. Tucker convinced himself he was mad at Church for trying to kill himself in Wash’s head all those years ago and being a very large reason why Wash didn’t let himself appreciate things, like his friends just being there for him. 

Tucker stops for a second to consider that maybe that isn’t Church’s fault, but Wash being generally a closed up, anxious being that hates himself for who he used to be, the cold Agent Washington that shot Lopez and Donut, bent on revenge; _that_ is Church’s fault. Church hurt Wash and Wash became a cold-hearted guy with some fucked up priorities that has now made Wash a guilt-ridden, PTSD suffering ex-Freelancer who thinks that in order to atone for his sins he has to always sacrifice himself.

Tucker doesn’t realize he’s back at the waiting room until he throws his helmet into a chair a little too aggressively and it falls on the ground instead with a clang. He lets out a groan, or a growl of sorts, sitting in the chair and leaning his elbows on his knees to put his face in his hands.

He knows what guilt feels like. Guilt is when he got two of his squad members killed while looking for Wash and the others when they were taken by Locus. Guilt is when he realized Church _didn’t_ make it to the other side in order for all of them to. Guilt is when he watched Wash starting bleeding out on the ground after getting shot in the throat because Tucker didn’t stop him.

Tucker is still most _definitely_ fucking guilty about that last one.

But Tucker still lets himself enjoy things, and he doesn’t go off and always try to sacrifice himself or push people away when he needs them, whether it’s in a battle or after he’s been hurt. He wouldn’t be nagging at them to leave him alone and go sleep or something after he’s been injured. He definitely didn’t do it after getting stabbed by Felix. He didn’t _want_ to be alone and he knew they _wanted_ to be there because they cared about him, so he let them be there for him. And he _knows_ Wash doesn’t want to be alone either, not after he grabbed Tucker’s hand when he was scared to fall asleep and wanted Tucker to tell him stories. But Wash has to be so fucking stubborn and insist they go rest for some god damn reason instead of just appreciating them being there. He has to always say _I’m sorry_.

God damn Wash and him trying to always be selfless.

  
  


Tucker stays in the waiting room by himself. Even when Dr. Grey walks by, clearly not in Wash’s room anymore, he doesn’t get up to go check on him. He stays seated, rubbing his temple with his elbow on the arm of the chair for 45 minutes, maybe an hour. He’s lost track without his helmet on.

“Tucker.”

He looks up to see Carolina approaching while popping her helmet off. 

“Is everything okay?” She looks worried.

Tucker first thinks she’s asking about him, but he realizes she’s talking about Wash. “Yeah, yeah, Wash is fine.”

“Oh,” she pauses, stopping a few feet away, as if realizing this means Tucker is the one having problems. She can obviously tell by the way he isn’t trying to be subtle. He’s pretty sure he’s glaring at the ground, or pouting, or both. “What’s wrong, then?”

He crosses his arms, looking away. He’s still upset and wishes that Church or Grif were here instead of Carolina so he could bitch and complain without looking like a whiny bitch because those two were just as bad as he was. Carolina never liked any of their bitching and complaining.

Eventually though he frowns, his arms loosening around his own chest as he looks at the ground. 

“Wash doesn’t appreciate the fact that we stayed last night. He’s worried we didn’t sleep enough or something and he wants us to leave tonight.” Carolina doesn’t say anything so Tucker keeps talking. “Why can’t he just fucking say thank you? Like a normal person? I mean, I know why he can’t but it’s just… god, it’s so damn _infuriating_ being his friend sometimes. He doesn’t appreciate anything.”

“Of course he appreciates things, Tucker,” Carolina says, sitting next to him. Her red hair is pulled out of her face, her blonde roots starting to show on top of her head. “He just worries about us. He puts us first, you know that.”

“Yeah, well I don’t _want_ him to put us first when he should be focusing on himself and recovering,” Tucker says, still pouting like a fucking child. He feels ridiculous but he just avoids her gaze so he can glare at the wall.

“I know,” she agrees solemnly with a sigh. “Have you told him this?”

“Yeah. Well, I kinda yelled at him,” Tucker says sheepishly, looking at the ground before finally looking at her. “But all he said was sorry after, which was like, totally not the fucking point.”

She cracks a small, weary smile. “That’s Wash for you. Always sacrificing then always apologizing.”

Tucker snorts. “He’s so fucking stubborn.”

Carolina chuckles, saying, “Yeah, he really is. Why don’t you try talking to him without yelling? And try compromising?”

“Compromising? Like, letting him fucking win and leaving when he obviously needs us? No way.” He makes sure to say _us_ and not just _me_ , because Wash doesn’t just need Tucker, he needs them all.

“No,” she says sternly, rolling her eyes. “I mean just get some sleep and talk to him in the morning. You don’t need to leave and he doesn’t have to be alone for you to sleep.”

“So, like… sleep in his room?” Tucker asks, looking at her with a slight squint. “Is that even allowed?”

“Well, I ignored Dr. Grey and did it anyways last night before I got you and Caboose,” Carolina says with a smirk. “There’s a bench in there. I slept on it for a few hours. It’s comfortable if you just pretend it’s a bed.” Tucker’s surprised to hear she’s even slept at all, but it makes sense, otherwise she’d be pushing 48 hours with no sleep and the only person Tucker knows who can do that is Wash. 

“Okay… okay, yeah, that’s a good idea,” Tucker agrees and stands up. He grabs his helmet and a pillow from the chair he was sitting in. “I’m just gonna go now. I’m uh, pretty exhausted, but don’t tell Wash that or he’d never live it down.”

“Okay, Tucker,” Carolina says, grinning at him with some sort of twinkling look in her eyes. “You do that.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says awkwardly, shifting on his feet. “I’m just here for my friend, like you.”

“Sure. Whatever you say, drama queen.”

“Fuck off,” Tucker mumbles and leaves, heading down the empty hallway.

“Do you need me to hold your hand while you fall asleep, too?” Carolina calls after him, the amusement much too evident in her voice.

He doesn’t answer but flips her off while walking away. God, the Churchs were _unbearable._ Years ago when he first met Carolina and she was pushy, edgy, and borderlining a psychopath on a suicide mission, he _never_ would’ve thought in a million years she’d be here, teasing him about his feelings for Wash.

Not feelings. His _non_ -feelings. Strictly concerned friend non-feelings feelings. 

When Tucker reaches Wash’s room again, he peers inside the window, finding it dark and empty. He opens the door quietly to find Wash fast asleep on his bed, laying on his back with the thin blanket covering his lower half. 

Tucker will never not be surprised at how calm and relaxed the ex-Freelancer looks when he’s sleeping. 

He sighs to himself a little, shutting the door quietly behind him to not wake Wash since the dude was a pretty light sleeper unless he was on pain meds, which Tucker assumed he wasn’t on right now since he claimed earlier that he was fine. 

Tucker feels bad now for yelling at Wash and storming out like a bitch. The guy _is_ just messed up and unable to mentally understand that people just want to be there for him. It’s fucking sad more than infuriating. 

He slowly walks over to Wash and his hand hovers over Wash’s hand but he stops. Tucker grabs the blanket and pulls it over Wash’s chest and arms, fully covering him. He resists the urge to just sit next to Wash and stay up all night, watching over him and holding his hand. Instead, he spots the bench Carolina was talking about and walks over, tossing the pillow onto it. Tucker climbs on, armor and all, aside from his helmet. He lays on his back since it’s the most comfortable in armor and stares at the ceiling. His eyes feel heavy almost immediately and he passes out before he even knows it.

  
  


Tucker wakes up to sunlight spilling in through the window the next morning, hitting his face since he’s laying on his side, facing the large ass window directly in front and above him.

He groans a little, not ready to wake up. He uncomfortably rolls over to face the other way in his armor and his neck hurts like a bitch. The clock on the wall says it’s been almost 12 hours since he passed out.

Tucker jumps to sit up, squinting at the clock, before briefly putting his helmet on to check if it’s actually 9 in the morning. His HUD confirms it is and he puts his helmet back down in slight disbelief. 

How the fuck did he actually sleep for a full 12 hours on a fucking bench, in his armor, with nothing but a small pillow to support his head? He must have been _really_ exhausted. That might explain his bitchiness last night towards Wash and Carolina. 

Speaking of Wash… Tucker glances over and sees the guy is _still_ knocked out, even unmedicated. He’s not dead or anything either (his heart rate monitor is still beeping), which is what Tucker would assume if Wash had passed out for longer than 5 hours on a normal day. 

Tucker gets up, leaving his helmet on the bench as he stretches, hearing a few bones crack. He stretches his neck too before walking over to Wash’s bed. Wash is actually snoring lightly, indicating he’s in a deep sleep that Tucker knows takes him forever to get to. Tucker grins a little, happy that Wash is actually resting and recovering. 

He looks at Wash’s hand that’s escaped from the blanket and reaches down to brush his fingers over the blonde’s knuckles gently. Wash’s hand twitches in response and Tucker immediately pulls his hand away, not wanting to wake him up.

Tucker leaves Wash’s bedside to enter the bathroom in the corner of the room. He turns on the sink and sighs heavily, looking at himself in the mirror. At least he doesn’t look like complete ass, although his dreads are a little messy looking, so he pulls them back into a bun of sorts so the long, dark hair isn’t spilling over the back of his armor. He then splashes some water on his face, rubbing at his eyes and forehead, feeling the cool water drip down his chin. It feels good, and he remembers that he needs a fucking shower and it’s definitely been _way_ too long since he last had one.

He keeps washing his face, the cold water waking him up some more, although it’s not as good as a cup of coffee, which sounds pretty good right now too. He pauses slightly when he hears Wash’s heart rate monitor beeping quicker and louder behind him, but he just assumes Wash is waking up a little panicked like he usually does.

“Morning, dude,” Tucker calls from where he’s bent over the sink.

He hears the monitor starting to quicken even more and Tucker frowns when the monitor stops altogether. 

“Wash?” Tucker stands up, his own heart starting to beat faster with worry as he wipes his face with his hands, turning to see what the hell is going on.

Tucker jumps, literally fucking _jumps_ when Wash is standing right in front of him, definitely not asleep and not in his bed anymore. Wash’s arm is bleeding a little from where Tucker assumes he ripped out his own IV. 

“Wash, what the fuck--”

He doesn’t have time to finish his sentence before Wash grabs Tucker by the throat and slams him backwards against the sink and mirror. Tucker’s armor shatters the mirror from the impact, glass tumbling around their feet.

Tucker’s own hands automatically go to the single hand wrapped around his throat that is gripping him _way_ too tight for a guy who just got shot in the neck and has been bedridden for the last two days.

“Wash, it’s me, it’s Tucker, you’re on Chorus, your name is--” Tucker is somehow managing out even though his hands are shaking, trying to get Wash’s hand off of his throat.

Wash single handedly throws Tucker to the ground with his one hand and arm.

He crashes onto the ground and tries to move to get up and put some space between them but Wash kicks him, actually fucking _kicks_ him back down to the ground even though Tucker’s in full armor and Wash literally has no shoes on.

Tucker falls back down and Wash grabs him, flipping him onto his back and straddling him. Tucker sees the motion Wash always does before he’s about to throw a punch and his training with Wash himself kicks in. Tucker blocks Wash’s punch, Wash’s knuckles colliding with Tucker’s armored arm.

Wash hisses in pain and Tucker uses the distraction to his advantage, using his hips and arms to forcefully throw Wash off of him. He crashes into his own IV stand near the bed, knocking the thin pole to the ground.

“Wash, listen to me, you’re fucking _dreaming_ or just can’t remember but I’m _Tucker_ , I’m on the Blue team and you are too!” Tucker shouts, panicked, finally getting to his feet. 

By the time he’s up again, Wash already is too. Fucking ninja Freelancers, for fucks sake.

The only thing between them is the bed, which Wash _lunges_ over, and the sheer surprise of the attack combined with Wash’s height and weight, both taller and heavier than Tucker, are what sends Tucker sprawling to the ground with Wash on him again.

The ex-Freelancer doesn’t respond, of course. His grey eyes are ferocious and wild looking, like an animal being hunted in the wild. Tucker tries to get him off again but this time it doesn’t work. Wash is _pissed_.

“Who sent you?” Wash hisses out, his voice raspy. Tucker realizes these are his first words since getting shot. “The Director?”

“ _No_!” Tucker answers but Wash doesn’t like the answer and wraps two hands around Tucker’s throat. Tucker tries to gasp for air or to say something, anything, but he can’t this time. Wash’s hands are too tight and determined.

He flails around, trying to hit Wash, but Wash has his fucking biceps pinned to the ground with his knees, putting all of his weight into keeping him pinned down and choking him. Tucker tries kicking with his legs but that doesn’t do anything either. He’s not nearly flexible enough to kick Wash and he’s sure if he was he wouldn’t be able to with his armor on anyways.

Tucker is fucking losing to a fight with Wash. Tucker, in full armor, to Wash, who just got shot two days ago, who hasn’t so much as left his bed in those two days, who _isn’t_ in any armor at all. 

This doesn’t scare Tucker, though. Wash is a strong, scary guy when he wants to be.

What scares him is when he stares into Wash’s eyes he knows he’s going to die here and that Wash is going to fucking kill himself or something when he finds out he killed Tucker with his bare hands.

He can’t let Wash kill him. Not for the sake of his own death, but for Wash’s sake.

Tucker, still choking and gasping for air, lets his hand feel around for anything he can use. He feels up the side of Wash’s bed and finally grabs something. He glances over to see he’s holding the emergency button that’s always equipped to a hospital bed. Tucker pushes the button repeatedly, hoping it fucking works.

After what seems like an eternity but must only be a few seconds, Tucker realizes no one is coming. He braces himself for his death as he slowly stops struggling. His life isn’t flashing before his eyes like it did when Felix stabbed him. Back then he’d suddenly seen images of Church, Grif, Caboose, Wash, Junior, all the Reds and Blues and Carolina too. 

This time it’s just him and Wash in the present.

One of Tucker’s hands comes up, dropping onto Wash’s two hands that are around his throat and Tucker just holds Wash’s stupid hands that are killing him.

 _It’s okay_ , Tucker wishes he could fucking say. He wishes so bad he could just tell Wash that it’s okay. But he can’t.

His vision starts going dark and he feels tired.

All of a sudden the door flies open.

 _“Wash!”_ someone yells, while someone else, a flash of cyan, tackles him off of Tucker.

Tucker gasps, his vision coming back to him as Dr. Grey appears next to him, her eyes wide with worry. She says something to him, something calming and reassuring, but he’s gasping, coughing, and gagging all at once. Tucker sits up and crawls to the garbage can that’s thankfully right behind him and throws up whatever dinner that was in his stomach from yesterday. The throwing up doesn’t help whatsoever as he takes deep, gasping breaths and his entire body heaves out the breath right after. He doesn’t throw up again but he continues breathing like that for a good minute, his hands gripping tightly onto the garbage can as he stares down into it.

“He needs a sedative,” Carolina says urgently in the background. “Now, Emily!”

Dr. Grey scrambles away from Tucker and goes to a cabinet, grabbing something.

Tucker glances over to see Carolina standing behind Wash, in full armor, helmet included, holding his arms tightly behind his back.

“Let me _go!”_ Wash is yelling at her. “Carolina, I’ll fucking _kill_ you! You backstabbing motherfucker! I know he sent you!”

Dr. Grey walks up to them and quickly injects something into Wash’s arm. She isn’t scared to get close to him, which surprises the fuck out of Tucker. Wash yells at both of them the entire time until he slowly starts to relax, still saying shit until he passes out, his head hanging over and his legs limp. Carolina and Dr. Grey move him into the bed and no one says anything.

Tucker shakily lets go of the garbage and sits on the ground. There’s a dull ache in his neck and his head.

“Captain,” Dr. Grey says gently, crouching in front of him with her hand extended to him. “Let’s go. I need to see if there’s any damage to your trachea.”

The dark man looks up at her and just takes her hand. She helps him to his feet, his whole body shaking, and she doesn’t let go as she walks him to the door.

Tucker looks over at Carolina and she’s already looking at him. He can’t see her face, but he knows that she looks worried because her arms are crossed and she’s standing stiffly. 

He knows that she knows that the hope they had earlier for Wash, that he might be okay in this timeline, in the present, is gone.

  
  


Dr. Grey takes Tucker to an empty room and he sits on the bed, his hands still shaking. She assesses his neck, her fingers gently touching the deep purple handprints that are starting to appear on his skin.

“Has this ever happened before his injury?”

Tucker stares past her, looking at the grey wall. “Yes. Not to this extent. He usually… remembers,” he manages to croak out.

She nods quietly and doesn’t say anything else for the next little while.

Eventually, she tells him he’s okay but that his throat might feel sore when he talks and his neck will hurt to touch or look left or right for a few days.

He says a quick thank you and she hesitates before telling him to take all the time he needs, leaving him alone in his own room.

Tucker stands up slowly, feeling a little dizzy. He walks into the bathroom, looking in the mirror. There’s already handprints appearing on his neck, specifically two circles in the middle where Wash’s thumbs were digging harshly into his skin.

He starts discarding his armor right there, letting all of the pieces fall to the ground. It takes a few minutes but he’s eventually down to his suit which he peels off, stepping out of both his suit and boxers.

He gets into the shower and when it turns on he just closes his eyes, letting the water hit his face.

Tucker has dealt with a countless number of Wash’s nightmares. When Wash wakes up from a nightmare he’s usually confused for a minute or scared or his fight or flight instincts kick in. Even though Tucker has wrestled with him on the ground before, Wash _always_ ends up remembering after a few minutes, if not seconds _._ No one has ever had to intervene and Tucker can always take care of it himself. But this time he almost fucking died, and Wash still didn’t remember. He had to be sedated.

  
  


Waking up is harder this time as Wash slowly opens his eyes, even though he remembers not taking any pain medication to help him sleep last night.

He finds Carolina standing a few feet away from his bed, and even though she has her helmet on, he knows she’s staring at him.

He’s about to say something but he realizes his knuckles fucking _hurt_ and he looks at his hand to find them wrapped with gauze and a bandage.

Everything comes rushing back to him and Wash sits up, his eyes widening in horror.

“Tucker, is he-- where is he? Is he okay?”

“Wash, take it easy--” Carolina says uneasily, stepping closer to his bed.

“Is he fucking _okay_ , Carolina?!” he shrieks, his hands starting to shake as he moves to get up. His whole body kind of hurts and he recalls getting thrown off by Tucker into something.

She puts a hand on his chest, pushing him back down onto his bed. 

“He is okay,” she tells him firmly. “But you getting out of bed now is not going to do anyone any better.”

“I have to-- I have to talk to him, I have to say sorry-- _Fuck_! What the _fuck_?! I almost fucking killed him! I was going to do it, I was _really_ going to, I-I felt myself doing it and I wasn’t going to stop,” Wash starts babbling, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He grabs onto his pants, balling the material up in his fists. His mind is running a mile a minute and he can’t organize a single thought.

“Wash, breathe,” Carolina insists, although she still sounds tense and not as warm as she was with him yesterday.

“I can’t do this,” Wash says. “I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m a fucking-- I can’t be around anyone. I have to get out of here.”

He tries to get up again but she shoves him back down and rips her helmet off, glaring at him with her piercing green eyes. 

“Where the fuck are you going to go, Wash?” she snaps. “Seriously, tell me. I want to hear whatever plan you’re cooking up in your head right now.”

“I-I-I’ll leave Chorus, I’ll go somewhere else, I just have to get out of here,” he answers, avoiding her eyes. “I can take a ship. I’ll sneak on one leaving the planet. I have to go. I can’t do this.”

Carolina grabs his shoulders and gives him a hard shake. “David! Look at me.”

He has a hard time meeting her eyes but her gloved hand cups his jaw and forces him to meet her eyes.

“You are not going anywhere,” she tells him. “You’re staying right here with your _family_ and you aren’t running away when things get a little difficult.”

“I almost killed him!” Wash responds and his throat hurts to raise his voice. “This was different, you don’t get it! I’ve never… I’ve _never_ gone that far. I always remember, _always,_ no matter how deep my dreams get or how fucked my memory is. I always remember,” he whispers the ending and his eyes start to water.

Carolina stares at him, looking sad now instead of angry. She lets him go and steps back, grabbing her helmet. 

“I’ll go get him. You guys clearly need to talk.”

“What-- no!” Wash exclaims as she walks to the door. “I don’t wanna see him.”

“I thought you wanted to say sorry,” Carolina responds, sounding a little sarcastic.

“I do, but I... I don’t even know what to say,” Wash practically whispers.

“Well… I’m sure _he’s_ got plenty to say, like always.” And she leaves with that.

Wash sits quietly on his bed but he’s so tired of sitting. He looks at his arm, seeing he no longer has an IV. He assumes it’s because Dr. Grey or Carolina are afraid he’s going to rip it out again. He’s not connected to the monitor anymore either, and it’s painfully quiet without the constant beeping he’s grown used to. He stands up, slowly walking over to the window. 

He stands there, looking outside, fidgeting with the end of his hospital shirt when he realizes that he is _actually_ standing and can talk now. Not that he wasn’t earlier when he was violently tackling Tucker to the ground and yelling, but it’s just hitting him now. He’s physically doing better, but clearly the mental part is not doing great.

Wash stares out into the city streets. He wants to leave even though he knows he shouldn’t. Of course the guys would be mad at him, but at least they’d be alive. He wouldn’t hurt them.

He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against the window. 

How could he let this happen? How could he just… forget so intensely?

A few moments later he hears the door open.

“Are you supposed to be standing, dude?”

Wash turns to face Tucker, finding it hard to answer already. Tucker is wearing normal clothes, for once out of his armor. Some sweatpants that look too big for him and a baggy t-shirt that is _definitely_ too big for him.

“Before you say anything,” Tucker says, “these are the hospital’s clothes. I’d never be caught wearing anything this loose in my entire life. Thankfully, Caboose is gonna bring me some of my own shit later today.”

Wash knows Tucker’s typical first choice of outfit is something more form fitting since he loves showing off his body at any given moment. Tucker usually favors a tighter t-shirt and sweatpants that do show off his muscles and thighs and ass in all the right ways. Wash has noticed all of the above, but only because his _friend_ is in good shape and Wash likes to tease him that that’s half because of Wash’s training at the crash site. 

His thoughts stop shortly when he notices the bruising on Tucker’s neck even from where he is, several feet away.

“Tucker, I…”

“Don’t,” Tucker cuts him off, his tone cold. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Wash says. “I almost killed you.”

“Well you didn’t, so, there. Fine,” Tucker scoffs, crossing his arms and looking away.

“Stop it,” Wash whispers, and then louder, “Stop it. It’s _not_ okay. _I’m_ not okay! I don’t want to keep pretending that I am, or that any of this is okay, because it’s _not_. And it’s starting to piss me off that everyone is trying to be so nice to me when I’m going around almost killing my friends!”

Tucker looks back at him angrily. “Okay, in all of our defense, we were being nice to you _before_ that happened, so stop being an asshole. And dude, I’m not just going to stop being nice to you now because you’re suffering from a brain injury that isn’t your fault!”

“It is my fault,” Wash responds, still standing near the window. “I walked into open fire on my own. No one made me do that, my own damn legs took me there, and now all of you are paying for it. Fuck… why did I fucking do that?”

Wash starts running his hands through his hair anxiously, turning away and looking at the ground. He hears Tucker walk over and he puts a hand on his shoulder, spinning him back around.

“It wasn’t your fault, for fucks sake. None of this is your fault,” Tucker says and looks like he wants to say more but he stops. His hand is still on Wash’s shoulder.

“I hurt you,” Wash responds, his eyes narrowing on the bruises that he can see clearer now that Tucker’s close to him. “I really hurt you… And not just like other times when I wake up from a nightmare and I’m confused for a few seconds and we wrestle for a bit on the ground until I remember. Those times I always--” Wash stops when his throat starts to tighten and he really doesn’t want to cry right now. “I always remember you,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Tucker says quietly too. “But I promise we’ll get through this. I won’t let you kill me or anyone else.”

Wash looks up to meet his eyes, shifting on his feet unsteadily. “Uh… I didn’t want to bring it up, but you couldn’t even hold me off in your armor, Tucker,” he jokes lightly.

“Fuck you,” the dark man rolls his eyes, but he grins lightly. His hand has moved from Wash’s shoulder and is resting on his arm now. “Fine, _Carolina_ won’t let you kill anyone. Happy?”

Wash nods a little and suggests lightly, “Guess we should start training together again?”

Tucker gives him a _look_ , as if he’s conveying with his eyes, _don’t you dare even think about that right now._

But, Tucker does answer, “Yes, _but_ not until your dumb ass is healed.”

“Okay,” Wash agrees and he grins a bit when Tucker smiles at him first. The smile leaves his face when he looks at the bruises again. Tucker reaches out, putting his fingers under Wash’s chin to tilt his head back up to meet his brown ones. Tucker doesn’t say anything though and they stand there for a moment before Wash whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry again. Like, ever. Seriously,” Tucker says firmly, glaring at Wash. He lets his hand fall from Wash’s face and his expression changes, going softer, but still determined. “I’m here for _you_ , Wash. You can strangle me or say you’re sorry or tell me to leave as much as you want, but I’m not going _anywhere_. You’ll have to actually kill me to do that.”

Wash feels his lips twitch up into another grin because no one has ever said anything like that to Wash. His heart is beating fast and his hands are clammy as he fidgets with the hem of his shirt again. He really doesn’t deserve these words, or Tucker being the one saying them, but everything in him feels light, reassured, and… _fuck_. Happy.

“Which won’t happen,” Wash responds. “Because Carolina.”

“Exactly,” Tucker loses any harsh edges and smiles again, all perfect, white teeth flashing at Wash and happiness radiating off of him. It’s infectious, really. “So guess you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Guess not,” Wash says and still has a small grin on his lips.

They stare at each other, smiling.

“I’m gonna hug you, dude,” Tucker says out of nowhere, and he’s already stepping closer to Wash.

“Wh-- oh, okay,” Wash says as Tucker’s already wrapped his arms around Wash’s neck. Wash’s own arms come up to hug Tucker back but he hesitates, his arms hanging in the air awkwardly, before they slowly settle around Tucker’s waist. It’s gentle and Wash is pretty sure they’ve never hugged like this before or else he’d remember the way Tucker kind of fits perfectly against his own body, Tucker being just the right height. They probably have, maybe when they reunited during the war, or after Tucker lost Church, but Wash definitely doesn’t remember being this close to him or hugging him for this long.

Wash closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy the contact because why the fuck not. Tucker’s made it pretty clear he isn’t going anywhere, and Wash is very, very thankful for that.

Tucker lays his head down on Wash’s shoulder and Wash feels himself blushing. He really can’t help it when he breathes in a whiff of soap or shampoo.

“Did you _shower_?” Wash asks, both of them still hugging each other.

“Fuck yeah, I showered,” Tucker responds. “Speaking of which, you should consider doing.”

“Fuck you.” Wash pushes him away, rolling his eyes while Tucker snickers, smirking. 

“No, really, you should, and not just ‘cause it’s been like days or whatever since you have, but because the hospital actually has hot water.”

“It’s okay, Tucker. I get it. I stink.”

Tucker starts to laugh as Wash walks over to the bathroom. The mirror is gone, but so is the glass that had fallen on the ground.

“Are you supposed to do that alone?” Tucker calls after him. “You need any help, Agent Washington? Got some areas you need help _washing_?” His tone is suggestive and teasing.

“Of course not. My name is _Wash_ for a reason, Captain,” Wash responds, turning to Tucker once he’s in the bathroom, a hand on the door. 

Tucker just beams in response, still smiling, as if he can’t believe Wash is making fucking shower jokes with him. Wash just shakes his head and shuts the door, but he’s smiling to himself.

It feels like a step in the right direction even despite the circumstances. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took a bit longer. I hope to make it up to y'all with some fluff :)
> 
> Also, happy anniversary to one of my favorite Tuckington fanfics, Put My Guns In The Ground by saltsanford! I reread it a couple of months ago while I was rewatching RvB and it really inspired me to write my own. It's a classic in the Tuckington fandom, so go check it out if you haven't. It's incredible.
> 
> Have an amazing Sunday!
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	5. Chapter 5

A week passes after Wash attacks Tucker.

It’s a relatively slow week. Nothing happens after that one day. Wash is afraid to sleep all the time now, but he ends up barely even having any nightmares when he does sleep. The nights he does have nightmares they’re not that bad, and he’s woken up by Tucker, who is still there, and who has made a makeshift bed on the ground of Wash’s hospital room (against Dr. Grey’s complaints) with a collection of pillows and blankets he and Caboose had slowly been stealing over the week. Wash doesn’t try to tell Tucker to leave after he last tried to, which left both of them upset with one another, but Wash is definitely still scared of attacking him again. He still doesn’t know how Tucker  _ isn’t  _ scared, but Wash guesses he’s grateful he hasn’t driven away the aqua soldier. 

Caboose stays a few nights because he passes out in a chair while Wash and Tucker talk and neither of them have the heart to wake him up and they both enjoy the extra company anyways.

Carolina swings by a lot too and even brings Kimball once, who is now President Kimball, to see how Wash is doing. It’s really nice of her and all, but he can’t help but notice the way Carolina has her helmet off the entire time Kimball’s there and she’s smiling and looking at her like she used to look at York when he wasn’t paying attention. He thinks that maybe Carolina brings Kimball along for her own reasons and that Kimball agreed, not to see Wash, but for her own reasons too.

After they leave, Wash mentions it to Tucker and Tucker snickers and tells him that according to Grif, Kimball stops by the city base a  _ lot _ , claiming to check on the lieutenants but she always ends up talking to Carolina instead.

The Reds stop by occasionally as well, if not to see Wash, then to catch up with Tucker. It’s painfully obvious how much Grif misses Tucker, especially when he complains to Tucker the entirety of one of his visits about Simmons’ bitching and complaining about their room’s messiness. This is thanks to Tucker and Wash, Wash learns, because a combination of both of their stuff from Iris has been packed into Grif and Simmons’ room for the last week and a half since neither of them have moved into a room at the city base.

This makes Tucker reluctantly leave to go to the new base and move his stuff into a room and Wash’s into another. Before he leaves he triple checks with Wash to make sure he’ll be okay, and Wash  _ insists  _ he will be. He had just wanted Tucker to get out and get some air. If he can get out of the hospital then he  _ should _ . Wash was starting to get so tired of the stale air and grey walls and he couldn’t leave, so at least one of them should get out for a bit.

Tucker comes back later that night, of course, and describes the new base to Wash while shedding his armor and changing into something more comfortable. Wash listens contentedly while avoiding watching Tucker undress in front of him. Of course, Wash is  _ so  _ damn ready to leave the hospital and sleep in his new room; however, the whole situation in the hospital hasn’t exactly become  _ uncomfortable _ . In fact, it's become almost favorable. 

Sure, the hospital bed feels like he’s sleeping on a brick sometimes, and the blanket’s too thin, and it’s a  _ hospital _ . And sure, Tucker has to sleep on the ground and he wakes up Wash at least twice every night, groaning and rolling around, trying to get comfortable. But they’ve also stayed up late many nights, talking and sharing stories, and they eat every meal together, and Tucker’s got a collection of his own clothes building in the corner of the room, and he showers in the bathroom in the room and sings sometimes and Wash listens and enjoys Tucker’s singing because he realizes he’s actually really fucking good at it. 

The situation is not horrible. Not at all, actually. Wash isn’t alone or bored and he’s spending all of his time with Tucker after they’ve spent so much time apart and have been busy with Temple and all of the time travel stuff. Their time together in the hospital reminds him of the crash site when they first crashed on Chorus. Although a lot of it was spent bickering with Tucker and trying to get him to train or Wash being yelled at by him, some of their nights were spent like they’ve been spending them now. Just talking and getting closer. 

Their friendship on Iris was a lot different. Tucker spent a lot of time on his own after they lost Church, or he’d hangout with Grif and Simmons at Red base, or with Caboose outside doing something dumb. Wash, on the other hand, spent most of his time with Carolina or Caboose. He and Carolina really stuck together during that time mainly because neither of them knew how to be “retired”. He and Tucker had undoubtedly drifted a bit on Iris, but this? Being together in Wash’s hospital room for the last week? It made him really happy to know that they hadn’t drifted as far as he thought and that they could just pick up where they left off, as close friends who obviously cared strongly for one another, and hopefully to never drift again because honestly, Wash loved Tucker’s presence.

So when Dr. Grey informs Wash he can leave the next day, after having spent nine days in the hospital, he’s happy, but part of him will definitely miss everything that came with rooming with Tucker.

They spend their last night together talking for hours, much longer than usual. Wash can easily stay up and pull all-nighters out of habit so he chats more than he usually does, telling Tucker about how nice it was to have seen the triplets again while time traveling. Tucker has a harder time staying focused but he’s really  _ trying  _ and he doesn’t give in and pass out in the chair next to Wash’s bed like he had other nights. Wash can tell Tucker’s trying his hardest to stay awake and enjoy their last night rooming together and it makes Wash’s heart flutter a little, just because he realizes Tucker is going to miss this too.

Tucker ends up falling asleep around 0400 hours. His feet are up on Wash’s bed, on Wash’s thigh, and his head is drooped down. Wash stops talking and grins to himself, looking at the dark man passed out in the chair next to him.

  
  


Wash wakes up in the morning to someone entering the room. It’s Dr. Grey, who’s sporting a big smile. Wash notices Tucker is gone from the room, unsure of where he went since he’s usually there in the mornings.

“Good morning, Wash! Are you ready to be discharged? You must be so excited to leave and sleep in your own bed! I know these beds aren’t the greatest, but I suppose quantity over quality is a better deal after we had so little beds in Armonia back in the day!”

“Yes, I am excited to go, but the bed was fine, really,” he tries to reassure her, sitting up and throwing the blanket off. “It’s better to be able to take care of more people, even if the price is an uncomfortable sleep.”

“You’re right! Besides, who can get a good night’s sleep in a hospital, anyways? Not me!” She walks over and removes his hospital bracelet. “If you were wondering, your  _ roommate  _ went to go get your armor for you.”

He rubs his wrist where the bracelet was. “Right… I’m sorry about breaking hospital rules, Dr. Grey, but he really wouldn’t listen--”

“Emily!” she interrupts him. “And don’t you worry your pretty blonde head, Wash. I’m glad Captain Tucker was here to keep you company. It speaks wonders to your relationship that he insisted on staying even after your little accident!”

Wash looks at the ground while sitting on the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor. He feels himself blushing. Yeah, he is pretty damn lucky Tucker stayed even after Wash attacked him.

“Yes, Tucker is a great friend,” he responds and looks at her. She just gives him a grin. “Listen, Dr. Gr-- Emily,” he corrects himself. “I really wouldn’t have survived if it weren’t for you. Not just the bullet wound, but the pain after, and you talking me through things, and-- sedating me…” Wash pauses. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you.”

“Oh, Wash,” she starts, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to ever thank me for doing my job. But if you  _ do  _ want to thank me, then be sure you don’t go walking into open fire again, silly! Or next time I might just let you bleed out and die!” Her tone is awfully cheerful and she’s still smiling. It makes Wash a little uncomfortable but all he does is grin sheepishly at her and she pats his shoulder, moving back to the door. “I’ll see you soon for your check up, Agent!”

With that, she leaves.

Wash cleans up while he waits around for Tucker to return. He folds blankets and stacks them on the bed with the pillows Tucker’s collected. He grabs all of Tucker’s clothes, shoving them into the backpack Caboose brought them over in.

He’s in the middle of throwing empty styrofoam soup bowls into the garbage when Tucker walks in, fully dressed in armor, carrying Wash’s armor. He accidentally drops a piece as he walks in.

“Shit. Sorry,” Tucker says, his face hidden behind his helmet.

“It’s okay,” Wash says, grabbing the fallen piece. “Thanks for getting it for me. You didn’t have to.”

“You’re right, but I wanted to.” Tucker dumps everything on the bed, carefully making sure nothing else falls on the floor. “Besides, Caboose and I gave it a good clean and even touched up some of the scratches so I wanted to surprise you with it. Voila!”

Wash looks at his armor, messily displaced on the bed, pieces on top of each other and scattered in disorganization. He grabs his kevlar suit and notices there’s no blood stains on it from his bullet wound. He inspects his chest piece after, holding it up to see it’s clean of blood too. In fact, it actually looks better than before he got shot. It has no scratches or chips.

“It looks amazing,” Wash says and looks at Tucker, who is standing at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed. Wash can just imagine the smug grin under his helmet. “You guys did a really great job.”

“Fuck yeah we did!” Tucker responds. “Took a bit of scrubbing to get the blood off first and then a few new coats of spray paint, but Caboose was more than happy to do arts and crafts with something a lot better than crayons and paper. His words, not mine. He was surprisingly good at it too, except for when he accidentally sprayed yellow all over your helmet instead of grey.”

Wash chuckles a little, trying to imagine his helmet being coated in yellow paint.

“Well, I’ll have to tell him thank you when we get back,” Wash says and turns to Tucker. Tucker just stands there and doesn’t move, staring back at Wash expectantly. “Are you going to leave so I can change…?” Wash asks eventually.

“What? Seriously?” Tucker sighs. Wash knows he’s rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen you change before, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I still enjoy privacy, Tucker,” Wash responds flatly.

“God, you’re such a fucking prude. Fine. I’ll wait outside, your highness.” Tucker grabs Caboose’s backpack and steps out into the hall.

Wash grins as he watches him go and immediately strips out of the hospital clothes he was given once the door shuts. He steps into his suit first, pulling it onto his shoulders and zipping it up the back. It definitely smells a lot better than it had previously. 

He puts his armor back on, piece by piece, until all that’s left is his helmet. He stares into the visor while holding his helmet in his hands, looking at his own reflection. His hair is too grown out like Tucker said. His eyes still somehow look tired even after nine days of nothing but rest. Scars line his face in different places. 

As rough as he looks, he has definitely looked worse. 

Putting his helmet on feels familiar and safe. He exhales deeply, watching as his HUD comes to life in front of his eyes. Wash quickly grabs something from the table next to his bed. The cards Caboose and Tucker had made him. He looks at them again before stuffing them away in a compartment and then steps into the hall.

Tucker’s outside, leaning against the wall. He looks at Wash as he comes out.

“There’s the bad ass Wash I know,” Tucker comments happily. “It’s crazy how much of a different vibe you give off when you’re inside your armor. It’s like, oh shit, this is the guy who’s gonna tell me to drop and give him a hundred.”

“That was a long time ago,” Wash responds, rolling his eyes even though Tucker can’t see him. 

“Not  _ that  _ long ago,” Tucker says, and Wash realizes that  _ is  _ true. The end of the Chorus war was just a short year ago, but it feels like forever ago after what they’ve been through. “You ready to go?”

Wash nods and they set off.

  
  


Tucker tells Wash the walk to the new base is about half an hour from the hospital. It’s just a couple of blocks away.

Wash is anxious most of the walk there. He tries to play it off, but Tucker notices something’s wrong for a few different reasons. Mainly because Wash just keeps responding  _ uh huh _ to everything Tucker says, but also since Wash keeps looking around and he keeps wringing his hands and fidgeting with them. Tucker knows that Wash would probably be holding a pistol right now if he could be, and since he isn’t is the  _ only  _ reason he keeps undoing and redoing the velcro on his gloves.

Getting annoyed, Tucker glances at Wash, who is looking up at the tall buildings around them. “So, Wash, you’re swingin’ by my room later tonight for a bone sesh, right?”

“Mhm,” Wash responds, still looking up, undoing his glove  _ again  _ with an annoying tearing sound before he does it back up.

“Dude!” Tucker exclaims, sighing. “That’s not what you’re supposed to say.” Wash doesn’t even  _ respond _ so Tucker stops walking, grabbing the grey and yellow soldier by his arm. That gets his attention since Wash’s visor looks at Tucker’s. “Wash!”

“What?” Wash asks, confused and innocently. “I heard you.”

“So, you  _ heard  _ me asking if you’re stopping by my room tonight to fuck me, and you  _ agreed  _ to it?”

“What?!” Wash’s voice goes up  _ several  _ octaves, making Tucker grimace at the shrill in his voice. He takes his arm away from Tucker’s hand. “I did  _ not  _ agree to that. I would never agree to that!”

“You clearly  _ aren’t  _ listening to me then, dumbass. Also, shit, don’t have to shoot a guy down so hard,” Tucker rolls his eyes. Wash rubs the back of his neck, looking around again. “Dude, what’s going on? Aren’t you happy we’re going back to see everyone and don’t have to sleep in that shitty hospital anymore?”

“Yes, I am. I am,” Wash says. “It’s just… I don’t know. I still don’t like the city. Walking out here makes me feel vulnerable. I never liked it, even when I lived here.”

“You mean in your kick ass penthouse?” Tucker asks, trying to lighten the mood. “When you literally made up the entire one percent of Chorus with your stupid funeral canon thing?”

That makes Wash chuckle, but it’s not one of Wash’s full chuckles or laughs. Tucker would know. He tries to make Wash laugh as much as humanly possible.

“Yeah… I don’t know. It’s hard for me to get used to new places and a city? It’s-- it’s  _ big  _ and  _ loud _ and I’m just not used to it yet.”

Tucker gets it. He really does. A new place always means some new bullshit to deal with. Look at the desert, and Valhalla. The crash site. Fucking Iris. Everywhere they went there was trouble. 

“I know. I’m not either, trust me, but we’re safe for right now. There’s no war, there’s no mercs trying to kill us,” Tucker says. He takes his sword from his hip, showing it to Wash. “I haven’t left without it yet, if it makes you feel any better. If anyone tries to hurt us, I’ll swish-swish-stab ‘em in the chest.”

Wash shifts on his feet a little but eventually nods. “Okay. Not that I’d need your help, but thanks,” he says, his tone going back to normal and even a little teasing. 

“Asshole,” Tucker comments half-heartedly and nudges Wash with his shoulder before they continue walking through the streets.

  
  


They eventually make it to the base. It’s on the outskirts of the city where there’s more space for new additions. The place is practically brand new, just a year old after the war on Chorus. 

It’s clear there’s construction going on for other things like a hangar, a weapons facility, etc. around the main building, which is the living quarters.

“Kimball focused on giving all of the soldiers a place to live before starting the other stuff,” Tucker explains briefly to Wash. “Most of them are just kids with no families to go home to, anyways. Need some place to live, right?”

They go through security through a gate quickly and just like that, they get inside the building. 

Wash looks around as they walk inside. It looks like a military base, honestly, with the plain walls and thousands of hallways, but it’s definitely a lot nicer than a basic base considering the budget Chorus probably  _ didn’t  _ have after the war. 

There’s a huge map where it shows all of the different hallways and areas of the large building. Tucker already knows where to go, turning down a hall.

There’s soldiers walking around, chatting to each other with their helmets off, with their armor off, and Tucker knows exactly what Wash is thinking as he stares at a few young soldiers that walk by them.

“It’s so much more different than during the war,” Wash says. “Everyone’s so… relaxed, and not at each other’s throats.” He sounds genuinely astonished.

“Grif compared the place to a college dorm,” Tucker says, grinning. “Don’t know how he’d know that, but from the movies I’ve seen and the way he describes the night life around here, it’s pretty accurate. I mean, a bunch of teens thrown into a place to live together with no war to fight?”

“Oh god. That sounds like a nightmare.”

“ _ Or  _ the fucking  _ dream _ .”

“You’re so gross.”

Tucker snickers as they turn down another hall. He immediately frowns, spotting a certain soldier in tan armor with striped colors similar to his own armor color.

“Oh,  _ fuck me, _ ” Tucker manages to say before he’s interrupted.

“Captain Tucker!” Palomo squeals and then gasps. “Agent Washington! Welcome!” He runs up to them, saluting. “It’s so great to see you up and alive, sir!”

“Uh,” Wash starts awkwardly, sounding uncomfortable. “Thank you, lieutenant Palomo.”

“Actually, me and the guys are officers now!” Palomo corrects him, dropping his hand. “Isn’t that exciting?!”

“Officers? Well, that’s great news, how did that happ--” Wash starts to say.

“Dude,” Tucker warns, “ _ don’t  _ ask. I already got the whole spiel. It was like a two minute story turned into a three hour drama.”

“Because it  _ was  _ dramatic, Captain Tucker! After our  _ heroic  _ fight against the pirates, we--”

“Shut the fuck  _ up,  _ Palomo!”

“Well,” Palomo turns back to Wash, unaffected. “This is our hallway if you ever wanna stop by! Katie and I would be absolutely honored to host you in our room for dinner some time--”

“He’s not interested,” Tucker cuts him off again because he’s getting a damn headache. He grabs Wash by the hand, dragging him off down another hall. Wash looks over his shoulder and waves goodbye to Palomo, who waves back enthusiastically. “God, he  _ cannot  _ take a hint and it’s not like I’m ever trying to be subtle! Do you know how many times I’ve told him to shut the fuck up?”

“Obviously not enough,” Wash jokes.

“Obviously,” Tucker responds and lets go of Wash’s hand when he realizes he’s been holding it for too long. He glances at Wash but Wash doesn’t seem to have noticed any of it. Or maybe he didn’t mind? Tucker shakes his head to himself. Wash is more than likely done with all of the hand holding and being soft shit now that he’s out of the hospital. He’s probably gonna want to be alone now that he doesn’t have Dr. Grey and everyone else hovering around him all the time.

They finally get to the Blue’s hall. It’s pretty obvious it’s the Blue’s hall since there’s drawings stuck all over Caboose’s door, which says in blue paint  _ Cabose _ . The hall is empty.

“Well, here we are,” Tucker says, anticlimactically. “This is my room.” He gestures to a blank door across from Caboose’s. “And yours is on the left of mine.”

“Is it just us three?” Wash asks.

“Yep. Like you know, Carolina’s on Red team and she’s  _ really  _ committing to it, moving her own shit into a room in their hall and everything.”

“What about Kai?”

Tucker doesn’t miss the way Wash glances at him when he asks that.

“We’re not a thing, dude,” Tucker says flatly.

Wash freezes and turns to him. “That’s not what I asked, Tucker.”

“I know. I’m just saying. And she’s in the Red hall too, to be close to Grif, like a loser.”

“Well, they  _ are  _ siblings.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gonna go in your new room or what?”

Wash turns to his own door and hesitates before opening it and walking in. Tucker follows behind him, leaving the door open as he steps inside Wash’s room.

It’s nothing too special, but the room is slightly bigger than any other room they’ve ever had in another base, which means the bed is bigger too. There’s a desk, a dresser and a closet. Wash’s stuff is in a couple of small boxes on the desk since the dude didn’t have a lot of shit to begin with.

“I didn’t put anything away ‘cause I knew you’d wanna organize it and whatever,” Tucker says, motioning to the boxes. 

Wash looks around before turning to him and nodding. 

“Thank you for bringing it here.”

“Yeah, well, Simmons was probably gonna do it himself eventually and I knew you wouldn’t like him going through your stuff so, I figured I might as well.”

Tucker seems to have reminded Wash of something since he walks over to the boxes, going through them. He takes some stuff out of a box, putting it on the table, before he pulls out a  _ shit ton  _ of pieces of paper. Some fall on the ground since there’s so many and he scrambles to catch them but ends up dropping more.

“Fuck,” Wash mumbles, bending down to collect them quickly.

Tucker goes to help, grabbing a few when he realizes they’re all drawings. Painfully childlike  _ blue  _ drawings. 

“Are these Caboose’s drawings?” Tucker asks, sounding surprised, while he stares at a few in his hands.

Wash snatches them from his hands, putting them in the massive pile of papers. 

“Dude. Do  _ not  _ tell me you keep them all,” the aqua soldier says, still is disbelief, but there it is. There’s all the proof  _ right there _ . Wash doesn’t say anything immediately. “You keep all of his drawings?!”

“Of course I do! What am I supposed to do with them?”

“I don’t know, throw them  _ out? _ He’s made you like, fucking hell,  _ hundreds _ !”

Wash stands back up from where he was crouched, Tucker following. He watches as Wash takes out two folded pieces of paper from a compartment in his armor, adding them to the pile. Tucker catches a glimpse of his own writing and drawings on the shitty card he gave Wash on the first day he woke up.

“Wash,” Tucker says and can’t keep the insanely wicked smile off of his face or the amusement and teasing out of his voice. “Wash, Wash,  _ Wash _ ,” he keeps repeating because Wash turns away from him, yanking his arms away from Tucker’s reach while he shoves the papers back in the box. Tucker starts to laugh, still saying his name. He grabs onto Wash’s shoulder while bending over and laughing. “Wash,  _ dude _ . Oh my god.”

“Stop it, Tucker.” The poor guy sounds embarrassed.

“I can’t believe an ex-Freelancer keeps his teammates’ shitty drawings!”

“I appreciate them, okay?”

“Holy shit! And to think you were once one of the scariest dude’s we’ve ever met! I mean, I’ve known for awhile that that  _ isn’t  _ true but this  _ really  _ just puts the goddamn icing on the cake!” 

Tucker’s still laughing with his hand on Wash’s shoulder and Wash just turns to stare at him.

“You’re the fucking  _ worst _ ,” Wash deadpans, still sounding embarrassed.

“And  _ you  _ are literally the  _ cutest  _ fucking person in the universe,” Tucker responds, his hand sliding down Wash’s arm as he continues chuckling. 

Wash doesn’t say anything and Tucker gazes into his visor, wondering if he actually made him upset. He feels bad for a second and stops laughing all together, not wanting to be  _ that  _ much of a dick. Wash’s helmet tilts forward, looking down at Tucker’s hand resting on his forearm. Tucker suddenly removes it. 

Oh, fuck. He’s going too far. Too many crude jokes and too much touching for two friends.

Clearing his throat, Tucker sits on Wash’s bed to put some distance between them. “So? Thoughts on your new living situation?” he asks casually.

“It’s great. It’ll do,” Wash responds, looking around again. Tucker listens to his tone but doesn’t hear any anger or anything, thankfully.

“It’s no Iris, but at least there’s no dinosaurs or any of that bullshit to worry about.”

Surprisingly, Wash sits next to Tucker on the bed. “You think we’ll ever go back?”

“To Iris? I don’t fucking know, dude. I mean, I’m just going wherever you go. And the others,” Tucker quickly adds. What the fuck is wrong with him? Today he is just  _ not  _ on his A game or something. “But Grif has been pretty obsessed over the food in the city so I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to drag him away. Besides, we need to stay near the hospital for your checkups and colonoscopies and shit.”

“Wh-- I’m not  _ that  _ old!” Wash exclaims.

“Mm, pretty old to me. Are you pushing 40 now?”

“No! I’m still a few years away!” Wash responds, sounding defensive and embarrassed again. Tucker grins, imagining the red on his freckled cheeks, even on the tips of his ears. “God, don’t even remind me, Tucker. Seriously.”

“Okay, okay,” Tucker says and glances at the time in his HUD, remembering there are some  _ certain  _ Reds and Blues waiting in the kitchen area to surprise Wash. “Hey, let’s take off our armor and get more comfortable.”

“ _ What _ ?!” Wash exclaims nervously and stands up again. “I  _ accidentally  _ agreed to the sex thing, Tucker!”

“Whoa, dude, who said  _ anything  _ about sex?! I just told you to take off your armor!”

“To have sex!” Wash answers, his voice high pitched again. 

“I didn’t say that! What the fuck?! I just said so we can get  _ comfortable! _ ”

Wash suddenly pauses, looking at him. “Oh, you didn’t mean…?”

“No!” Tucker responds. “Also, Jesus, I thought I told you to stop harshly rejecting my offerings.”

“But you weren’t even offering.”

“No, I wasn’t, but fuck dude, you’re acting like I’m the plague!”

“Okay, okay, sorry. Sorry. I’m going to keep my armor on.”

“You know you don’t have to--”

“Too late. What were we going to do?” Wash cuts Tucker off, asking quickly while crossing and then uncrossing his arms awkwardly.

“Fucking weirdo. C’mon, I’ll show you our joint kitchen with the Reds,” Tucker says and gets up, leaving Wash’s room.

Wash follows quietly behind Tucker. Usually Wash tells Tucker to shut up or stop with the dirty jokes but right now he’s just being a fucking weird ass ball of anxiety whenever he brings it up. Did something change between them that he hasn’t noticed? Is he missing something? Wash was so quick to reject him and act like Tucker had asked him to blow up city hall, or something. God, does Wash think Tucker is actually  _ that  _ repulsive? 

They get to another door and Tucker pulls it open. It’s in the corner of two intersecting halls, the Reds and the Blues’ halls specifically. The kitchen is really nice, honestly. Several kitchens for every few halls in the building replaces a large mess hall for the soldiers and instead they can cook for themselves and hangout in their respective kitchen’s instead.

The lights are off and Tucker flips them on.

Someone pops a confetti cannon, which makes Wash jump next to Tucker. Tucker feels a little sad as his reaction, but Wash seems to visibly relax upon seeing confetti flying all over the place, landing mainly on the ground.

“ _ Surprise _ !” Sarge, Kai and Simmons yell. Caboose blows a party blower in his mouth which makes a loud, annoying sound.

The Reds and Blues stand in front of them, all out of their armor. Carolina is there too, looking amused. Grif has his arms crossed, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. Lopez stands near him and mumbles, “ _ Sorpresa _ .” There’s a homemade paper banner hanging from the ceiling that says  _ welcom home, Wash!!!  _ with blue paint and drawings all over it. Tucker knows Caboose made that.

“Welcome home, Agent Washington!” Caboose exclaims and runs up, giving Wash a huge hug. Even though Wash is in armor and Caboose isn’t, the big kid still manages to lift him off the ground and shake him around.

“Thank you, Caboose,” Wash says stiffly, patting Caboose’s head. Caboose puts him down eventually, smiling happily. “What is all of this?” Wash asks.

“We decided to throw you a surprise party! Do you like it?” Caboose beams.

“A surprise party? For me? Why?” Wash sounds genuinely confused.

Tucker pops his helmet off. “‘Cause you got released from the hospital and you’re home, dude! We couldn’t do it the first time, so why not this time?”

Wash takes a moment before taking his own helmet off. He smiles shyly. “Thank you, everyone--”

“If you say  _ you didn’t have to _ I’m literally gonna leave,” Grif says flatly. 

Wash opens his mouth but closes it.

“Let’s get this party started! Hit the music, Caboose!” Sarge orders and grabs a  _ huge  _ knife. Tucker looks at it worriedly before Sarge starts cutting up a cake that they must have baked since it doesn’t look too great and is falling apart.

Music starts to play on a little radio. The quality isn’t great or loud, but Tucker doesn’t really care. He hasn’t heard music in forever.

“C’mon,” Tucker says to Wash, walking over to the kitchen island. 

“Welcome home, Wash,” Carolina says and smiles at him as they approach.

Tucker watches as Wash smiles back and surprisingly, pulls her in for a hug. Tucker kinda wishes Wash would pull him in for hugs like that.

“Thank you. It’s good to be here.”

“Why are you guys in your armor?” Grif suddenly asks. “Tucker, your entire  _ job  _ was to get him to wear something comfortable so we could all chill and relax.”

“He wouldn’t listen to me!”

“You made it sound weird!” Wash exclaims, pulling away from Carolina.

“What was I supposed to say? Hey Wash, take off your armor for the surprise party we secretly have planned for you?!”

Wash sighs, “I’m fine like this. Really.”

Sarge cuts in to slide Wash the first slice of cake. Grif looks completely offended, so much so that Sarge rolls his eyes and gives Grif the second piece. Tucker notices when Simmons stalks over, grabbing an extra fork and taking a bite of Grif’s cake. To Tucker’s fucking surprise, Grif  _ does not  _ say anything or get angry.

“Where the hell did you get party supplies? And cake ingredients?” Wash interrupts Tucker’s thoughts.

“The store!” Caboose responds, who already has cake all over his face somehow. “Sergeant and I went shopping! It was so fun! I wanted to get balloons but they had none left.”

“The store?” Wash wonders.

“The city really almost has everything,” Carolina says. “It’s… kinda nice.”

“Fuck yeah it is. They have good restaurants too,” Grif adds, almost done his piece. “Sarge, gimme another.”

Tucker gets his own piece of cake and realizes Wash hasn’t tried his own slice yet. “Dude, you gonna eat it or what? It’s literally for you.”

Wash looks at the chocolate cake and takes his fork, taking a piece. Tucker definitely doesn’t watch him bring it up to his mouth and take a bite. 

To literally everyone’s surprise, Wash suddenly  _ moans _ . He straight up moans. From the fucking  _ cake _ . Tucker has  _ never  _ heard Wash make any sort of noise like that in his entire life. He honestly didn’t know the dude  _ could  _ moan, which is ridiculous ‘cause everyone can moan, but  _ Wash? _

Seemingly all at the same time, everyone stares at Wash, Tucker included, although he hasn’t really stopped staring at him.

“That is fucking  _ incredible! _ ” Wash exclaims and sits on a stool so he can shovel more of it into his mouth. No one says anything and Tucker still can’t blink or breathe for some reason. Wash realizes everyone is looking at him while licking the chocolate off his fork. “What?”

“Dude,” Grif says, “you sound like the cake is giving you a blow job.”

“ _ Grif!” _ Sarge exclaims.

“What? It’s true.”

“Honestly, what’s happening inside my mouth feels like the cake is giving me a lot more than a blow job. This is  _ so good _ . This is  _ better  _ than a blowjob,” is what Wash fucking answers.

Grif was not expecting that answer since he almost chokes on some cake and Simmons has to repeatedly hit his back to help him cough it out.

“Dude. What. The fuck,” Tucker finally says. “Did you just make a sex joke about  _ cake _ ?”

Wash looks at everyone else and then Tucker innocently. “Am I not supposed to do that?”

Everyone is still quiet and Tucker glances at Carolina. She doesn’t look disgusted or anything, but a little  _ worried _ , actually. 

“Y’know,” Wash continues since apparently right now he just doesn’t have a filter and has reverted back to pre-stick-up-ass Project Freelancer Wash that Tucker’s only heard a few stories about from Carolina and Wash himself, and actually saw a bit of after Wash was shot during their time travel adventures. “Chocolate cake is really the best cake. Vanilla doesn’t even come  _ close _ . Does anyone wanna have a debate with me about it? I already have so many pros for chocolate.”

Caboose perks up. “Oooh, me! Me, Wash! I don’t even like vanilla but I would like to hear your thoughts on chocolate cake!”

Wash beams at Caboose and stands up, grabbing his plate and Caboose to walk over and sit at a table in the corner of the room. They start chatting and the rest of the room goes back to normal.

Tucker turns to Carolina immediately. “Carolina--”

“We knew this could happen,” she’s already saying. “We’ve already seen him like this.”

“Is he  _ okay _ ?” Tucker asks because he doesn’t really know what else to say. “That was a quick fucking mood shift.”

“I know,” she says. “But he’s okay. It’s obvious his mood gets triggered by certain things, like when he hit his head when we were training together, or when I first told him about his condition.”

“So… we can’t really plan for it,” Tucker responds a little flatly and sadly. 

“No,” she replies, sounding and looking a little sad too as they glance at Wash. “It’s impossible to know what will trigger different things in his head.”

“I didn’t expect  _ cake  _ to be one of them.”

“Me neither,” Carolina agrees. 

“Fuck. I still can’t believe what just happened. I mean, that was so fucking sudden and weird,” Tucker says, looking at Wash again as he frowns. He feels his heart sink right there and then. Even though it was completely innocent and there was nothing wrong with what Wash did, he can’t help but remember when Wash attacked him and had no idea who he was. Tucker knows that things are gonna be different, but right now it’s hitting a lot harder after having experienced his first personality switch.

“I know, Tucker. And I’ve  _ seen  _ Wash change drastically way too many times in our years as friends, but all we can do is let him go through it. This is the new Wash, after all. We shouldn’t tell him who he is and isn’t just because  _ we’re  _ not used to it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right,” Tucker says, but still feels his stomach dropping and his heart pounding. He feels awful and so guilty. He hides it from Carolina though and forces a grin. “I’m gonna go talk to Grif and Simmons.”

“Tucker,” she stops to grab his arm as he starts to walk away. “If you need to talk to someone… because this is hard on  _ everyone _ , not just Wash… you have to tell me.”

“I’m fine,” Tucker responds and suddenly  _ hates  _ that he sounds like god damn fucking Washington any time something  _ wasn’t  _ fine. 

Carolina searches his face and his eyes for something that she can’t find. She lets him go and Tucker joins Grif and Simmons at the other end of the island who are enjoying more cake together. Tucker doesn’t even say anything to them, but glances over at Wash who is smiling, looking genuinely happy while chatting with Caboose about cake, and Tucker feels unnerved. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's looking like updates will be weekly-ish! :) (Sometimes less, sometimes a little more, just depends on how I feel about writing! Like I wrote this chapter, which is a lot longer than the others, in only three days! So it'll probably vary!)
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! Enjoy your weekend :)
> 
> Find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	6. Chapter 6

That night, Tucker reverts back to sleeping alone. He hasn’t slept alone in forever, probably not since in his own room on Iris. But this time it’s weird sleeping alone because he’s not sleeping on the ground in Wash’s hospital room. In just over a week, Tucker had gotten so used to sleeping there, staying up late and talking to Wash and waking up to bright light flooding into the room. 

Tucker stares at the ceiling of his own room. It’s dark. There’s a window, letting some moonlight in, but not nearly as much as at the hospital.

He feels bad. _Really_ bad. After Wash’s weird personality flip at the party, Tucker couldn’t help but keep his distance from him for the rest of the day. Instead, he preoccupied himself with talking to the others, everyone _but_ Wash. That alone makes Tucker feel guilty, but it doesn’t compare to the guilt he feels for being the reason why Wash is the way he is now. 

At the party, it had hit Tucker that Wash really _is_ different now. He probably should’ve realized it earlier, specifically when Wash woke up with no memory of who Tucker was and was going to kill him. He shouldn’t have brushed that off so easily. 

Tucker isn’t _mad_ at Wash. Not at all. None of this is his fault.

But it _is_ Tucker’s. The more he sees that Wash is different the worse he feels. The more guilt he feels. 

He should’ve stopped Wash from walking out into the open. He should’ve grabbed him as he walked by, or tackled him to the ground, or taken the fucking bullet for him. But he didn’t. Tucker didn’t do _any_ of that. He just watched Wash walk past him, walk out into the wide open, and get shot. 

After all of the bad that has happened to Wash in his short lifetime, Tucker hates that he’s now contributed to that list of bad things.

He should have been a better soldier. He thought he _was_ better, especially after the Chorus war and fighting Temple, but this… this fucking erases _all_ of his progress. If he can’t save his friends from certain injury or death, then what kind of improvement has he made at all?

He wakes up the next morning after a shitty night’s sleep and needs _space_. He leaves his room earlier than everyone else, even Wash, and heads to the training facilities. He spends hours in the gym working out and when he sees Wash walk by outside, getting an apparent tour of the rest of the base from Caboose, Tucker ducks his head and heads to the showers to avoid them.

He feels fucking worse as the day goes on and he openly avoids Wash. At dinner, Tucker’s sitting in the shared kitchen with Grif when Wash walks in and literally fucking _brightens_ up at seeing Tucker there. Wash starts to talk to Tucker about his tour with Caboose but Tucker just _can’t_. Tucker cuts Wash off and excuses himself, saying he has something to do, and leaves quickly so he doesn’t have to see the hurt on Wash’s face.

He can’t watch the Wash he knew disappear into a new post-injury Wash, which is probably going to be permanent, and which happened because of him. He can’t face him knowing he’s added to Wash’s list of bad things.

  
  


Wash’s first night sleeping in his own room in this new, strange, unfamiliar base is not the greatest. He only sleeps for a few hours, but he really tries his best after having such a good streak in the hospital. He also just really hopes that maybe that part of his life where he only sleeps for three hours every night and/or wakes up from an all too real nightmare was altered when he was shot in the neck and got his brain fucked up. 

He considers that maybe he _is_ going to lose his memory every now and then, but it’s been traded for less nightmares and bad sleep. Maybe it’s a negative and a positive and they just balance each other out.

Except he really can’t see it as them balancing each other out, especially after he almost killed Tucker the first time.

He gets by with no nightmares for the first night and gets up in the morning, putting his armor on routinely even though he knows he doesn’t have to. He’s just about finished when someone knocks on the door and he finds Caboose outside.

“Hi, Caboose,” Wash greets nicely. He’s happy to find some familiarity in Caboose being outside of his room.

“Good morning Agent Washingtub! I would like to give you a showing of the new base! It’s really big and clean and cool! Would you like to see it with me?”

“That would be great, actually. I’d like to see the training facilities that are available to us so I can start once I’m given the okay from--”

Caboose gasps very loud. “That is a very great place to start! Let’s go!”

Wash barely manages to grab his helmet before he’s dragged out with Caboose and the tour of his new home begins.

They make their way to the training facilities first. Caboose points out some people on their way there. Wash recognizes a lot of them, having trained a large number of soldiers during the war. They look cleaner and younger, freshly shaved, even though they’re a year older than he’d last seen them. He’s genuinely happy to see them all doing so well and says his hello’s. He will, however, never get used to the way they look at him and thank him like he’s some fucking hero that saved their planet. He continues to tell them, like the last time he saw them, that it wasn’t just him, it was _all_ of them.

Caboose chats with them too, specifically Andersmith who is present. Caboose is going on and on about his new job as a tour guide and how he’s going to talk to Kimball to see if he can get a badge, or something, and Andersmith nods along, listening intently. Wash can’t help but grin to himself. He’s happy Caboose is doing well here.

They continue along and finally get to the training facilities. There’s an entirely separate area for weapons and target training, in a large building off to the side of the main one. There’s also not just one, but _two_ large gyms full of all sorts of gym equipment. There’s weights, treadmills, workout benches, punching bags, even large open spaces with mats on the ground for combat training. 

The gyms are pretty bare since it’s still early in the morning, making it easy for Wash to notice Tucker through the glass windows. He doesn’t have his armor on, of course, and is in the middle of lifting a weight. He somehow catches Wash’s gaze, even though Wash has his helmet on, and Tucker suddenly puts the weight down and retreats to the showers through a door in the back.

Wash frowns a little to himself. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it when Caboose drags him along, mentioning something about a pool.

  
  


Wash almost regrets having taken up Caboose’s offer on the tour when many, many hours later they _finally_ finish. It went on way too long since Caboose stopped at every single person’s room to introduce them to Wash and Wash to them, and he showed Wash every single utility closet because they were all equally important and have a job to do, as Caboose claims.

The only reason he can get away is because he tells Caboose he needs to go have dinner, and Caboose gasps, saying, “I forgot I need to go pick up some bagels from the Sergeant’s room for a trade!”

“A trade for what?” Wash asks. He’s used to standing around on duty all day but right now his feet are actually fucking killing him from being with Caboose all day.

“Oh, he wants some scrap metal I found in the armory! I think he is building a new Lopez so Lopez can talk to Lopez about Lopez’s time in space and translate for him to discover all of the world’s secrets!”

“That…” Wash pauses and decides to let it go. “Okay. See you later, Caboose.”

“Bye Wash!” Caboose hurries off. 

Wash heads to the kitchen and pauses when he sees Tucker and Grif sitting inside with their armor off. Wash takes off his own helmet, deciding to try to fit in more with them and this whole place since everyone seems to always go helmet or armorless now. He runs a hand through his long hair-- Tucker was right, he _does_ need a haircut-- and walks in.

Tucker looks over from where he was laughing at Grif and his expression changes.

“Hey, what’re you guys up to?” Wash asks super casually. _Just try to fit in, this is your new home_. _There’s nothing to worry about anymore._

“Just eating, dude,” Grif answers, rolling around some peas on his plate with a fork. “Caboose gave you the _entire_ tour, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. Every room and closet.”

Grif rolls his eyes. “He did that to Simmons too, even though we literally moved in before he did.”

Wash chuckles lightly, walking over to stand near the counter where they are. “He was very insistent that I know about _every_ closet--”

“I got something to do,” Tucker cuts him off and brushes by Wash, leaving. He even leaves his plate of half eaten food.

Wash feels a wall of hurt hit his chest. He turns to watch Tucker go, who doesn’t even look back as the door closes behind him. 

He’s done something wrong. He _knows_ it. He feels it. Tucker’s avoiding him. Wash considered that maybe he was just being paranoid like usual earlier at the gym, but now it’s confirmed that Tucker does _not_ want to be around him. The dark man can barely even meet Wash’s eyes when they’re in the same room.

Wash thinks back to the welcome back surprise party yesterday and realizes that there too Tucker had stopped talking to him. Wash didn’t really notice then because he was so preoccupied with catching up with everyone else, but he realizes now that it was right there in front of him. Tucker’s been avoiding him for almost two days. How did he not notice right away? 

“Dude. Trouble in paradise or what?”

Wash turns, looking at Grif, who’s eating from Tucker’s plate now. He hopes he’s successful in at least wiping the hurt off of his face, but he’s sure it’s just been replaced with confusion.

“What?”

“I said, trouble in paradise?” Grif repeats. 

“I-- wh--” Wash stutters on his words.

“Yeah, Simmons gets fucking pissy sometimes too. I swear I never do anything, but then it turns out I totally _did_ do something without realizing it. Never took Tucker for the dramatic pissy bitch though. Actually, that’s not true. He was _so_ fucking dramatic when you were kidnapped by Locus, and when you were shot, and… probably a shit ton of other times too.”

Wash blinks, at a complete loss of words. He always knew Grif and Simmons were together. It was pretty obvious and sometimes they didn’t even try to hide it. But that isn’t what shocks Wash. It’s that Grif is insinuating he and Tucker have a relationship that is even _remotely_ similar to Grif and Simmons’.

“Tucker and I aren’t…” Wash can’t even get the words out. “Do you know why he’s avoiding me?”

“No,” Grif says flatly. “Blue team problems aren’t my problems. _Especially_ when they involve Tucker’s dick.”

“We’re not--” Wash sighs heavily and looks down, feeling his face heating up. “I gotta go.” He leaves the kitchen too.

  
  


Later that night, Wash avoids sleeping for as long as possible until he’s sure he can fall asleep as soon as he gets into bed. It’s way past midnight before he finally crawls under his blanket and when he does, slumber doesn’t come as easily as he wished it would. His body is tired and he has a little bit of a headache that he _really_ just wants to sleep off, but of course tonight he can’t fall asleep.

He tries his hardest not to let his mind wander but it does anyways. He thinks about how Tucker’s avoiding him. His mind replays Tucker leaving the gym and Tucker leaving the kitchen. 

Why is his friend avoiding him? What did he do to make this happen? Wash literally has no idea what he did. He hates the feeling that arises in his throat when he realizes that he can’t fix this because he doesn’t know what he did. He feels out of control of the situation.

Not only does he have to worry about the fact that his friend, quite possibly his closest friend, in some ways closer than Carolina, is avoiding him, but he has to worry about what he’s _doing_ to push Tucker away. And he really does _not_ want to push Tucker away. Not when they’ve gotten so close, especially in nearly the last two weeks since Wash had to get shot again. 

He hates how he’s feeling. He absolutely _despises_ it. Vulnerable, weak, pathetic, hurt. He’d felt it all when his friends left him on the Mother of Invention.

In a sort of horrifying revelation, Wash realizes he feels like that now because he’s become dependent on Tucker just like he was dependent on York, North, hell, even Maine and Connie. 

And it’s not like he’s become dependent on Carolina or Caboose. It’s Tucker. _Tucker._ Why Tucker?

He grips his blanket with both hands, curling them into fists around the fabric as his heart races and he remembers Grif joking about them _together_. Like how Grif and Simmons are together. Fuck, no. No. No. No. _No._

Wash does _not_ have feelings for Tucker. He can’t and he doesn’t. Wash promised himself he would _never_ let himself fall for someone. Not after being left behind at Freelancer, not after waking up countless nights alone and scared and god damn fucking _feral_ with no memory, not after shooting Donut and kidnapping Doc, not after York and Carolina, not after Tex, not after Leonard and Allis--

“Stop it,” Wash whispers to himself. But images start filling his head quicker than he’d like them to. Images of a young Carolina, playing in her backyard with Leonard, who sees Allison through the window of their house, watching them with a smile.

The room starts to feel incredibly small and like there’s no oxygen in the room and his chest is hurting. He sits up, breathing heavily. He tries to control it but it’s not working, the stupid fucking _breathe your nose, out through your mouth_ bullshit isn’t working. 

Wash stands up instead, trying to stay as quiet as possible since he doesn’t want to wake anyone up. He paces for only a few seconds, trying to focus on his steps, counting in his head to ten, but that doesn’t help either. 

He thinks back to what Tucker said to him after Wash tried to kill him.

_Don’t say goodbye._

No, that’s not right.

_I’m here for you, Wash. You can strangle me or say you’re sorry or tell me to leave as much as you want, but I’m not going anywhere._

Wash has obviously fucked up since then because Tucker was _so_ set on not leaving him in that moment, and he _didn’t_ leave Wash alone in the hospital for the rest of the time he was there. So, what did he do? What the _fuck_ did he do?

_Tucker, what did I do?_

His hands shake as he starts digging through a box on his table that he still hasn’t unpacked. He pulls out a ton of papers, Caboose’s drawings, looking at all of them with wide eyes, trying to find something to gasp onto. None of them help. He throws them around the room and he takes a breath that shutters in his throat.

He suddenly stops when he grabs onto Tucker’s card, the one he brought to Wash on his second day in the hospital. He looks at the drawings, at Valhalla and the crash site. He reads the words _Dear Wash, thanks for fixing the timeline with your throat._

Wash lets out the shakiest chuckle he’s ever heard come from his mouth. It sounds more like a sob. He sits down, pressing his back against the table while looking at the blue drawings. After a minute his breathing goes back to somewhat normal and he hugs the piece of paper to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself. He closes his eyes, resting the back of his head against the table too. 

He lets the card ground him. He lets the warmth that he feels knowing Tucker spent a few minutes to make it for him ground him. He lets Tucker’s friendship ground him. He focuses on that, he _has_ to, instead of all of the worries and questions. 

Wash doesn’t think about what their relationship means, he doesn’t even think about his feelings for Tucker and what they mean or what Grif’s stupid statement means. He just holds onto the card and breathes for now.

  
  


The next day, Tucker continues avoiding Wash and pretty much everyone else at this point by staying in his room for most of the afternoon. Earlier in the morning he worked out again and spent an extra long time talking to Bitters in the hallway, who just _hm_ ’d in response to _everything_ Tucker said. 

He’s in his room, tossing a ball up and down and catching it while laying in bed. 

He’s tired. He hasn’t exactly been having the greatest sleep, even though he _should_ be since he has his own real bed and everything and isn’t sleeping on a floor or a cot in some makeshift base. He’s been having nightmares though where he sees Wash getting shot over and over again. Sometimes Wash doesn’t make it and sometimes the injury is worse and Wash doesn’t know who Tucker is at all. Other times he dreams that Wash is even more different than he is now; he’s cold, he doesn’t care about Tucker anymore and doesn’t talk to him or even look at him in the hallway. In those dreams Tucker knows Wash blames him for his injury. 

He jumps when his door suddenly flies open and the ball hits him in the face on its way down.

Grif walks in, shutting the door behind him as he snorts. “Loser. Don’t you know how to catch a ball?”

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Tucker retorts. “What if my dick was out?”

Grif rolls his eyes. “As if you’d give a fuck if anyone saw your dick. I’ve already seen it _way_ too many times for comfort.”

“Why’d you come in here again?” Tucker sits up, putting his feet on the floor. “Just to insult me?”

“Oh, shit. Not even a comeback about how everyone wants to see your dick? There really _is_ trouble in paradise.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Grif?” Tucker frowns, looking up at him.

Grif crosses his arms over an orange hoodie. “Dude, you and Wash are putting a _massive_ damper on the mood around here. _You’re_ locked in your room avoiding Wash, and Wash is sulking around everywhere and _Caboose_ is upset and won’t leave the Reds alone. Even Carolina is starting to get frustrated with you two! She sent me here, by the way, but she inferred that if you don’t fix this she’s gonna beat your ass for hurting Wash. She also said something about how she was tired of giving you two idiots advice all the time?”

Shit.

“I’m not avoiding Wash,” Tucker decides to answer with.

“Jesus Christ, Tucker,” Grif groans, throwing his arms in the air. “You’re such a dramatic bitch.” Tucker almost cracks a grin because Grif sounds so much like Church. “We _all_ know you’re avoiding Wash. You’re not being exactly subtle about it. And Wash? Shit, if I catch that guy pouting and looking at you longingly down the hall one more time I’m going to fucking kill myself! He’s supposed to be scary or nice or… fuck, _annoying_ even! But _not_ just-got-dumped-pouty-sad-Freelancer!”

“What the _fuck_ are you saying?” Tucker asks, confused. “We didn’t break up. We weren’t dating.”

“Fucking hell knows that,” Grif mumbles. Tucker raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m just saying, you guys not being friends or whatever is just pissing everyone else off, so cut it out.”

Tucker looks at the ground, feeling that damn guilt again. “I can’t. So, you and everyone else should just get used to it, I guess. You can send Caboose to me, though, I’ll distract him with new markers or something.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Grif asks, looking dumbfounded. “You can’t just stop being friends with Wash. You guys are like… Tucker and Wash, Wash and Tucker! C’mon, best friends since Chorus. Remember when you used to cry to me everyday after he got kidnapped?”

“I didn’t cry!”

“Sure you didn’t, bud.” Grif grabs the chair from Tucker’s desk and sits in it across from him. Grif sighs heavily. “All right, dude. I’m probably not gonna be great at this, but… Donut used to help me through a lot of Simmons and I’s problems. Honestly, dude had some pretty good advice. So, uh, maybe I can pass it onto you.”

“Hang on, what kind of problems did you and Simmons have besides the regular ones?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Grif says dismissively. “So, why are you avoiding Wash?”

Tucker wants to press Grif about Simmons but he suddenly frowns and looks down again. He rubs a thumb over his palm, looking at the lines and scars there as it gets a little quiet between them. 

“Because the reason he got shot is because of me,” Tucker starts. 

“What?”

“He walked right by me and I didn’t stop him,” Tucker says. “He stood in front of me for a few seconds and I didn’t grab him. And now I see how he’s different and it’s because I couldn’t save him.”

“He’s not dead, dude,” Grif says.

“I know but he’s _different_ and it’s so weird. He’s normal one second, then making sex jokes the next and talking about the pros to chocolate cake with _Caboose._ And shit, I know that’s not _bad,_ but we don’t even _know_ the other psychological effects there’s gonna be. Hell, even physical ones. What if he can’t fight anymore? What if he’s not as good? He’s going to hate me for not saving him. Fuck, I already hate myself for it! What’s gonna stop him?” Tucker sighs, putting his face in his hands while resting his elbows on his knees. “I just need to rip the bandaid off, even if that means avoiding him because I can’t face him and the damage I’ve caused. It’ll just be better in the long run.”

“Better for who?” Grif asks, and Tucker is half surprised Grif’s not being an asshole to him for pouring his heart out. “For _you,_ maybe, but dude, Wash is _not_ better off without you. And I really don’t think you are, either.” Tucker knows Grif is right. He’s definitely not better off without Wash. It’s only been two days and he already misses just chatting with Wash about the most random shit. “Also? You aren’t why Wash got shot.” Tucker’s going to protest but Grif cuts him off. “I don’t wanna hear your guilty crying bullshit.”

“Again, not crying,” Tucker says flatly.

Grif just ignores him and continues, “Look, when I’d talk to Donut about Simmons and I’s problems, he would always tell me, as annoying as it was, that communication is the key to a relationship,” Grif offers. “I hate that he was right, but it’s true, man. Communication _is_ the key to any relationship, even friendships. You just have to talk stuff out.”

“I’m not good at talking stuff out,” Tucker responds. “And Wash _definitely_ isn’t either.”

“You think _I’m_ good at talking about shit? Or _Simmons?_ He pretty much stutters out every word and turns as red as Sarge’s fucking armor whenever we talk about our shit. Point is, you just gotta try. Don’t be such a pussy.”

Tucker considers Grif’s words. Maybe he’s right. Or Donut’s right. Tucker just knows that he doesn’t _want_ to lose Wash. He doesn’t _want_ to push him away. He just wants to… _god damn it._ Stand around and talk to his friend. Has Tucker come full fucking circle with Wash?

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I’m gonna talk to him,” Tucker says and stands up. “I’m gonna do it!”

“Fuck yeah!” Grif stands up too. 

“I’m gonna talk the shit outta him!”

“Hell yeah, dude.”

“Gonna fill him with so many words.”

“Okay, I’m fucking leaving,” Grif turns, heading for the door.

“Wait!” Tucker frowns. “What do I say?”

“That is something I am _not_ gonna help you out with,” Grif says over his shoulder. “You’re welcome, dipshit!” With that, he leaves.

  
  


Wash is in his room, pulling on a grey t-shirt to sleep in when there’s a knock at his door. He walks over and opens it, expecting it to be Caboose coming to say goodnight, but it’s Tucker. Wash blinks, surprised to find him standing outside his door.

“Tucker,” he says, a little confused.

“Hey,” Tucker says, avoiding his eyes. “Can I come in?”

Wash blinks at the man that’s a few inches shorter than him. Why would he want to come in?

“Uh, yes,” Wash responds and steps to the side to let Tucker in.

Wash debates on whether he should close the door or not, wondering what Tucker would prefer. When it’s clear he’s having a dilemma inside his own head, Tucker walks over, shutting the door for him. Wash looks at him, still confused. 

Tucker finally meets his eyes, his brown eyes soft and looking at Wash with some sort of anxious look that Wash can’t place.

“I wanted to talk,” Tucker says and walks over to sit on Wash’s bed. He looks at Wash expectantly, like he wants him to sit down too, but Wash can’t find himself to walk over and sit just yet.

“About what?” he asks, sounding a little too nervous for his own liking. 

“About everything, dude,” Tucker sighs. “Look, can you just come sit down? I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to.” 

There’s no sensuality behind what he says, but it still makes Wash’s face heat up and he looks at the ground as he sits, putting some space between him and Tucker on the bed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you.”

Wash looks up at that. “You are?”

“Of course, I am,” Tucker frowns at him. 

“I just... assumed you weren’t sorry since you _were_ avoiding me,” Wash says.

Tucker looks hurt and he sighs again. “I know. I know. I am sorry, though. I didn’t _want_ to avoid you.”

“Then why did you? Did I do something wrong? You can just tell me. Be honest,” Wash presses, searching for a reason.

“Dude, no,” Tucker laughs dryly. “You didn’t do anything.”

Wash frowns, confused again. “If I didn’t do anything, then why?”

“Well, it’s… it’s actually because of me,” Tucker says slowly. He glances at Wash but then avoids making eye contact as he continues. “Every time I look at you, I just get this overwhelming feeling of guilt. But not because of you. It’s because of my own dumb head. Fuck, I am _not_ good at this talking thing.”

“You say you’re not good at talking and yet you never stop,” Wash jokes lightly, wanting to wait for Tucker to continue on his own instead of pressing him on. He also just wants to lighten the mood because the tension is so thick in the room.

That makes Tucker grin and Wash grins a bit too, happy to see that smile because of him. 

“Shut up,” Tucker says, still grinning, but then it falls from his face and he looks down. “So… I feel guilty when I see you because I see how you’re different now because of your injury. Honestly, the whole you trying to strangle me thing didn’t even make me realize that you’re different. It was actually the small things. Like, at the welcome back party, when you made a sex joke. It just threw me off and it hit me then that you really _are_ different and it’s all my fucking fault.”

Wash tries to process what Tucker says. He thinks back to the party and tries to remember what he had said. He made a sex joke? How come he doesn’t even really remember that? Tucker does have a point, Wash making an innuendo doesn’t exactly sound like him. But then again, he _did_ also completely forget who Tucker was and tried to kill him. It’s not surprising that Wash _is_ different. He knew this was most likely going to happen.

His thoughts suddenly stop and he turns to face Tucker, frowning. “Wait, wait-- what? What’s your fault?”

“You, dude. You getting shot. Losing your memory. Changing,” Tucker says quietly. Wash stares at him, taken aback. Before he can answer Tucker continues. “You walked right past me. You were within arms reach and I could’ve grabbed you. Even when you were standing there I could have tackled you. But I just watched and yelled your name and that wasn’t enough. You were looking _right at me._ You were saying _my_ name when you got shot.”

Wash’s mind flashes images of what Tucker’s saying into view. He doesn’t remember exactly everything about that day because he was still coming out of armor lock, but he does remember looking at Tucker. 

“I’m responsible for your injury, Wash,” Tucker continues to say. “You’re my friend, my.. my _mentor,_ and I did this to you.” 

“Tucker,” Wash starts and stops until he feels like he can talk without sounding shaky. He wants to sound firm and believable. “You didn’t do this to me. This isn’t your fault at all. There is _nothing_ you could’ve done. How could you have known that was going to happen?” Tucker doesn’t say anything and avoids his eyes again so Wash hesitantly scoots a little closer. “Listen to me. None of this is your fault. It’s no one’s fault. It’s not yours for letting me walk out there, it’s not Carolina’s or Caboose’s either. It’s… it’s not even my fault,” Wash says for the first time. Tucker looks up at him, looking guilty still, but a little curious now. “I was coming out of armor lock and loopy. I didn’t know what I was doing. If I did, I wouldn’t have walked into open fire.” Wash says it like he’s trying to convince himself, and now, while logically explaining it, he believes it. It _wasn’t_ his own fault. He regrets it, of course, but it was not his fault. “So, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It’s just what happened.”

“So, you don’t hate me?” Tucker asks, still looking at him.

“What? No, I don’t hate you,” Wash responds, frowning. 

“What if you can’t fight anymore?” Tucker ignores him. “What if your judgement is all fucked up or something? What if you can’t throw a knife? Will you hate me then?”

“No!” Wash exclaims. “I won’t. No matter what.”

A small smile tugs at Tucker’s lips. “Really? Not even if I get really annoying?”

“You’re already really annoying, Tucker.” Wash feels himself grin.

Tucker continues grinning but it fades. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, Wash.”

Wash feels his own smile fade and looks down at the ground, nodding a little. 

“I know. Me too.” Wash pauses, and opts to lift the mood again, since Tucker’s clearly still down. “Did I really make a, um, sex joke? It completely went over my head if I did.”

Tucker chuckles, which already makes Wash feel better, as he says, “Dude, you moaned.”

“W-what?” Wash stutters, his cheeks _definitely_ reddening.

“You tried the cake and moaned. Like, a sex moan,” Tucker says and his eyes glint. _“Then_ you made a sex joke.”

“That wasn’t a sex moan! I was eating cake!” Wash’s voice goes higher and he wants to hide under his fucking bed. “I haven’t had cake in years! I didn’t even notice, okay?”

Tucker laughs again, then says, “I guess I got so freaked out because I’ve never heard you moan before.” Tucker stretches his legs out across Wash’s lap as he leans against Wash’s headboard. “Honestly, I didn’t know you _could_ moan.”

“Of course, I can moan,” Wash scoffs, but his face is still hot, and probably even hotter because of the contact on his thighs of Tucker’s legs sprawled across him.

“I don’t know about that. Have you _ever_ had sex, Wash?”

“Yes, I have had-- okay, we’re not talking about this,” Wash crosses his arms and leans his shoulder against the post of his bed, looking away from Tucker so he doesn’t see how fucking red he is.

Tucker continues chuckling and when Wash glances at him, he’s smirking in his direction.

“Y’know, even though you’re different now, maybe it won’t be such a bad thing,” Tucker says thoughtfully, and Wash is happy the conversation is going elsewhere. “I mean, I could do with a less cranky, less strict, more moany, sex jokey Wash.”

“All right,” Wash says and pushes Tucker’s legs off him as he stands up. He points at the door. “Out. I want to try to sleep.”

“You’re too easy, dude,” Tucker snickers, but stands up and walks over to the door, opening it. He looks back and smiles at Wash. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Wash responds and offers a tiny grin back while rolling his eyes.

Tucker keeps smiling and leaves, closing the door behind him. As soon as he does, Wash collapses onto his bed with his hands on his face, trying not to smile, but he can’t help it. He bites his lip in a grin as he looks at the ceiling. 

He didn’t do anything wrong. Tucker’s talking to him again. They’re back to normal. They talked it out. They’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh I'm so sorry this chapter was a few days late. I've been really busy with my online school. I hope this fluffiness makes up for that! 
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! I see them all. 
> 
> Have a great weekend everyone. :)
> 
> Find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	7. Chapter 7

Wash jumps awake to alarms blaring throughout the city base. His room is still pitch black so it must be sometime in the middle of the night. He doesn’t waste any time in jumping out of bed and running to his door. When he opens it the alarms get louder and there’s red emergency lights on, blinking every second in the dark hall.

Some soldiers jog by in full armor, holding their guns at the ready.

“Soldiers,” Wash calls out to them as they pass. “What’s going on?”

“One of our own has gone off the rails,” one of them answers. “Found a couple dead on watch. Don’t know how many other casualties there are. President Kimball has us locked down to find him and keep the city safe, but I think this is all targeted towards us, anyways.”

“Okay,” Wash tries to process this is _really_ happening, they’re under attack. He wants to ask more but the soldiers continue on down the hall. There’s shouting further away, orders being given. 

Wash’s first instinct would usually be to put his armor on and go out to help, but Caboose and Tucker’s rooms are right there and he needs to check on them first. He goes to Caboose’s room, finding the door unlocked like usual, but his room is empty. 

“Caboose?” Wash calls out even though the room is empty.

Maybe he’s hiding somewhere. Wash checks under the bed and opens the closet doors but there’s no Caboose hiding in either spots. 

There’s an explanation for this. There has to be. Caboose sleeps over in other people’s rooms all the time. Maybe he’s at Carolina’s or Sarge’s. Maybe he’s even already out and patrolling.

He leaves to check on Tucker next. 

“Tucker? Are you in there?” Wash calls out, knocking on his door. He doesn’t get a response. He doesn’t even hear any movement on the other side. “Tucker?” 

Wash waits a few more seconds before he tries the door, finding it unlocked. He pushes the door open.

“Tucker, are you--” 

He stops. 

There’s blood all over the ground and there’s two bodies, both in familiar blue and aqua armor, laying on the ground. It’s clear the blood belongs to them, and there’s too much to indicate they’re alive. Wash _knows_ this, the only logical part of his brain that’s working in that moment tells him that. 

He rushes over anyways, kneeling in the blood, getting his pants and socks soaked in red. 

The boys each have slits across their throats. Their eyes stare vacantly at the ceiling, their bodies unmoving.

“No, no, no,” Wash rambles on, touching Caboose’s face gently. “Hey. Hey, wake up. Caboose.” He looks at Tucker. “Tucker, wake up. Both of you. This isn’t a fucking game,” he accuses weakly as the alarms continue blaring in the hallway and the red light keeps flashing through the open door. “This isn’t fucking _funny._ Wake the fuck up!” He shakes both of their arms. “Caboose! Tucker! Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” 

But it _feels_ real. He’s covered in blood and he can _feel_ its stickiness on his fingers. He can feel their cold skin under his palms where his hands shake violently on the places on their necks where there should be a pulse but there isn't. He feels tears spilling out of his eyes, hot drops that trail down his cheeks.

“Wash.”

He looks up and sees Carolina in the door in her armor, her pistol pointed at him. The Reds are behind her and the lieutenants behind them. They all stare into the room, holding their weapons up.

“Put down the knife, Wash.”

He’s confused. What knife? _What knife?!_ Don’t they see Caboose and Tucker? Don’t they realize they’re dead? Why don’t they...

He looks at his own hand. He’s holding a knife. No. No, that’s wrong. That wasn’t there before. 

“It wasn’t me,” he whispers, tears still flowing down his face uncontrollably. “It wasn’t me, Carolina. It wasn’t _me,_ I would never do this, I _wouldn’t.”_

“It’s over, Wash,” Carolina says. Her voice is cold. “You’ve done enough. You can’t get out of this one.”

“I didn’t do this,” he says quietly, still holding the forsaken knife. 

“Wash,” she says firmly, her hands visibly tightening on her gun.

“I didn’t do this! I didn’t kill them!” he cries out. He sucks in a deep breath and starts to sob as he looks at the knife in his hand again and then at Caboose and Tucker. “I didn’t… I didn’t… _Did_ I do this? Oh god, I-I don’t remember. I did it, didn’t I? I did this to them.” The knife, his bloody hands, and the blood all over his clothes and the ground and the boys’ armor tells the story. 

“Wash.”

“Caboose, Tucker, I’m so sorry,” he sobs out. _“I’m sorry.”_

_“Wash!”_

  
  


He jumps and opens his eyes. He’s suddenly not in Tucker’s room. He’s in his own room, in his own bed. The lamp on his nightstand is on. There’s hands on his shoulders that belong to a dark man looming over him, staring down at him with wide, worried eyes. He immediately lets go of Wash, raising his hands carefully.

“It’s just me. It’s Tucker,” he says slowly and calmly.

“Tucker?” Wash whispers, his eyes following him. Tucker stands beside his bed, still looking at Wash with a worried expression.

“Yeah, it’s Tucker,” he says again quietly. 

“You’re not dead,” Wash manages out.

“Nope, not yet.”

Wash stares at him for a few seconds before he slowly sits up. His heart is beating, just like it was in that horrifically real nightmare. His hands are damp too and he thinks it’s blood for a brief moment before he realizes it’s sweat. His shirt is absolutely drenched with sweat and tears and his pillow and sheets are as well. He looks away from Tucker while wiping tears from his eyes and face. 

He feels embarrassed to be seen in this state. Tucker _has_ seen him after a nightmare, but Wash has never cried after one where Tucker was there to wake him up.

Tucker sits next to him on the bed, probably when he’s sure Wash isn’t going to strangle him.

“Bad one, huh?”

Wash nods wordlessly, staring at his blanket. It’s still dark in his room aside from the lamp, so he knows it’s sometime in the middle of the night. He feels guilty for having woken Tucker up again with a nightmare. He owes Tucker so many nights of sleep.

“What was it about?” Tucker asks. “You said Caboose and I’s names.”

Wash realizes he can’t avoid this, mostly because Tucker would never let him, but also because part of him doesn’t want to avoid it. A big part of him wants to open up to Tucker because that’s what they do now. They’ve had plenty of experience with opening up to each other now and Wash trusts Tucker with more than his life.

“I found you and Caboose dead,” Wash starts shakily. He swallows and adds, “I killed both of you. It was so real, Tucker. _So_ real. I felt it.” He squeezes his hands into fists around his blanket to stop them from shaking. 

Tucker doesn’t respond right away and Wash glances at him to see his expression. He’s frowning, looking at Wash, but he’s not scared or disappointed. He still looks worried and sad now.

“That’s fucked up,” Tucker eventually says quietly. “Sorry you saw that shit.”

“It’s okay. It wasn’t real, that’s all that matters.” Wash looks down at his fists clenching on tightly to his blanket.

Tucker’s hand suddenly comes into view and he hesitates over Wash’s hand before he places it gently on Wash’s hand. He watches as Tucker’s hand curls around his and Wash instinctively lets go of the blanket so Tucker can fully hold his hand. His own hand stops shaking once Tucker holds onto it. 

Wash swears he can hear his own blood pumping in his ears.

They stay like that for a few quiet moments, until Tucker says, “Okay. This isn’t working.”

Wash fully looks at him, confused, and a little nervous, thinking he's talking about the hand holding. “What isn’t working?”

“This. Us not bunking together,” Tucker responds. “I think we sleep better together.”

_“What?”_

“Obviously not in the _same_ bed, unless you want to, I’m down for _whatever,_ but sharing a room in the hospital was some of the _best_ sleep I’ve had in awhile.”

“Really?” Wash asks because he agrees _completely._ His sleep in the hospital was so much more relaxing and better overall. He honestly slept better knowing Tucker was there, even after he tried to kill him. He finds it comforting that Tucker feels the same. 

“Yeah, dude. My sleep’s been shit since we got here. I lay awake thinking too much and when I do sleep it’s only for a few hours and… honestly, I have nightmares where I see you getting shot.” Tucker pulls his hand away to awkwardly rub the back of his neck as he looks away from Wash for a second, who is boring curious holes into the side of Tucker’s head. “I think when we talk before sleeping helps a lot. And knowing you’re in the room _not_ getting shot probably helps too.”

“I…” Wash trails off, not knowing what to say. He agrees with Tucker, but he still feels guilty about a lot of stuff. He sighs and says, “I don’t think we should. It’s risky. What if I hurt you again? And-and worse, like in my dream.”

“I’m not a big _what if_ guy, Wash,” Tucker says flatly, looking back at him. “Don’t pretend like what I’m saying isn’t true. You slept like a fucking baby in the hospital. We’re just good for each other’s sleep, okay? That’s what friends fucking do.”

“Be good for each other’s sleep?” Wash tries to joke weakly.

“Yes,” Tucker responds firmly. He then sighs, his expression softening. “I want to be able to sleep again, okay? And I want you to too.” Tucker pauses then adds quickly, “Also, rooming alone is fucking boring anyways, so.”

Wash goes quiet to consider the proposition. To consider really, _actually_ sharing a room with Tucker. Not just some temporary thing in a hospital or in bunks with Caboose. Just the two of them in a room together, _alone._

“I think you’re right,” Wash eventually agrees quietly, feeling his face heat up.

He doesn’t miss the way Tucker lights up and then tries to hide it. He wants to tell Tucker _don’t worry, I feel the same,_ but of course he doesn’t. That might be too far. 

“Cool, cool,” Tucker says, casually, and then stands up. “Hang on, I’ll be right back. Man, Caboose is gonna be _pissed.”_

Tucker leaves briefly and Wash is confused about where he’s going. He returns with his own pillows and blankets, throwing them on the ground. He starts setting up a bed and Wash watches, confused.

“What are you doing? You’re not going to move your bed in here? You like the floor _that_ much?”

“Fuck no! But it’s the middle of the night and I don’t wanna move my bed and wake everyone the fuck up, Wash.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Right.” Then he feels guilty that Tucker has to sleep on the ground _again._ “Maybe you should just sleep in your own room tonight. I feel bad that you have to sleep on the floor. It looks even more uncomfortable than the hospital, considering you stole so many pillows to make a bed there.”

“No way, dude. We are trying out our sleeping-together-good-luck _right now.”_

Tucker looks up to meet Wash’s gaze from where he’s sitting on the ground. Wash doesn’t say anything and just looks at him, feeling his heart starting to beat a little faster.

“You should change outta that,” Tucker suddenly says as he looks away. “And change your sheets.”

Wash looks at his shirt and then his sheets, forgetting they were all covered in sweat. He climbs out of bed without a word and changes the sheets first. He hesitates at his dresser, glancing over at Tucker. Tucker isn’t looking, busy fluffing his pillow or something, so Wash takes his shirt off and quickly finds a different one. 

He gets back into bed, making sure not to step on Tucker who has made a bed on the ground directly next to Wash’s. Wash turns off the lamp that Tucker must’ve turned on earlier when he first came in. 

Tucker’s presence is already comforting even though neither of them talk for a few minutes. Wash honestly feels more good than anything else knowing Tucker is there. He doesn’t even feel scared of his nightmare and that he’s going to end up killing him. _That’s_ how much of a fucking impact Tucker has on him. He doesn’t hate that, though. He appreciates it since Tucker is so honest and real with him and that lets Wash trust him so easily.

Wash eventually looks over the edge of his bed, down at Tucker. Tucker’s already looking up at him somehow. He stares at Wash, waiting for him to say something.

“Thank you for being here for me,” Wash says quickly and then rolls over to face the wall, his back to Tucker.

Tucker doesn’t say anything, but Wash’s heart pounds a little quicker again, and he knows this is what Tucker wants from him. For Wash to be more appreciative instead of worried, and to let himself _want_ stuff and let others do shit for him, including letting his friend sleep on a hard ground to let him just be there for him.

  
  


“Caboose, I said to the _left,_ not the right!”

“Do not yell at me, Tucker! I cannot tell my left from right without making an L with my fingers and I cannot do that while carrying your bed for you!”

Tucker sighs, holding up the back end of his bed, standing in the hallway. He and Caboose are in the middle of trying to move it into Wash’s room. Tucker didn’t want to bother Wash by asking him, so he seized the opportunity while Wash was gone showering off his night sweats.

“Okay, so just go the _other_ way, then,” Tucker instructs.

Caboose steps to the left and the bed barely fits through the door, but it does.

“I am happy you asked me to help you redecorate!” Caboose exclaims. “Although, I’m still upset I am not going to be rooming with Wash.”

“I know,” Tucker says as they put the bed down across from Wash’s against the opposite wall. They had to move some of the other furniture around for Tucker’s bed to fit. “Sorry, Caboose. It’s not anything against you, but it’s more like we’re helping each other out by doing this.”

“I understand, Tucker,” Caboose says and sits on Tucker’s bed. “Wash hurt his head and now he needs a friend to help him sleep!” 

Tucker chuckles a little and sits next to him. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. He helps me too, though.”

“Church used to help me sleep,” Caboose says out of nowhere and Tucker pauses a little at the mention of Church. It’s nothing new, Caboose still talks about Church, but not as much as he used to. “When he was Epsilon and I had to help him remember, he would tell the stories back to me to make sure he got it right at bedtime. I always fell asleep, but I don’t think Church minded.”

Tucker grins a bit since Church did _not_ get a lot of those stories right, but that makes sense since it was Caboose telling him them.

“I think Wash will be very happy to sleep with you!”

Scoffing at the wording, Tucker responds, “Okay, Caboose, how about you help me grab all of my other stuff to move in here?”

“Okay, Tucker!”

  
  


After Caboose and Tucker bring all of his stuff to Wash’s room, Caboose leaves most of it on his bed and claims he has to go hangout with the Reds before he says goodbye and leaves.

Tucker feels bad that he hasn’t hung out with Caboose a lot lately, but he’s glad the Reds are accepting him into their circle. He’s sure that Carolina doesn’t really give them an option, but he still appreciates it. Tucker kind of gets the feeling that Caboose knows he and Wash are working through stuff together anyways, which he appreciates the big loof for understanding.

Tucker stands in Wash’s room-- _their_ room-- moving some of Wash’s clothes out of his drawers into other ones so Tucker can shove his own clothes into the empty ones. 

He thinks about last night. His sleep on the ground in _their_ room was not all that bad. 

Wash told him thank you, _thank you,_ not a god damn _sorry_ or _leave_ or _you should sleep somewhere more comfortable._ Just a simple thank you. And if that didn’t make Tucker’s heart burst with happiness, he doesn’t know what the fuck else could. That means Wash is actually listening to him and learning that he should just shut up and say thank you for once instead of worrying about a thousand other factors in play. 

Tucker tosses his shirts carelessly into a drawer.

He’s fucking ecstatic to be rooming with Wash again. That means more late night talks, good sleep, more touching--

 _Whoa._ They’ve only held hands a _couple_ of times. And Tucker played with his hair. And they hugged that one time, too. 

But he shouldn’t be thinking about touching Wash. Those words in the same sentence in his head don't even make sense. Wash is his friend, someone he looks up to. It’s nothing more than that.

So, _why_ is he thinking about holding Wash’s hand again, or getting to watch him change, like he might have kind of done a little bit last night when Wash wasn’t looking while he changed his shirt? That’s fucking _creepy_ of Tucker. 

Okay, he should relax. He can find his friend hot. He definitely knows an attractive person when he sees one. And he can find Wash’s body hot too, ‘cause it is, and he’s not blind. He’s known that Wash is constantly hiding his hot body ever since their crash site days and endless hours of working out together. He’s already checked Wash out from head to toe, countless times, in fact. Lord forgive him for doing it any time Wash is in the same room as him. He’s just _appreciating_ his friend's good looks and nice body.

“Are you rearranging my sock drawer?”

Tucker jumps at the sudden voice behind him, almost dropping a bunch of Wash’s socks. He must’ve been too caught up in his thoughts to have heard Wash return.

“Yeah, I’m trying to make space for my own shit since another dresser won’t fit in here--” Tucker says as he turns to face Wash and his brain stops working. Thank _god_ he finished his sentence because he’s not sure he’d be able to get anything logical out at the moment.

Wash is shirtless. Not only that, all he has on is a towel around his waist and his hair is wet and flat on his forehead and there’s still drops of water on his shoulders and chest. 

Tucker tries his hardest not to look. 

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.” Wash pushes past him, his arm brushing against Tucker’s. Wash starts to grab his socks from Tucker’s hands and place them in another drawer. “There, you can use that one now. I’ll probably have to rearrange whatever you already did since it looks like you just messily threw things in different drawers, but that’s fine.”

Tucker doesn’t hear a word he says. He has to admit he’s caught _way_ off guard. He takes a couple steps back and just continues to stare at Wash, but now at his back. He has fucking freckles literally _everywhere._ There goes him trying not to look, ‘cause now he’s looking and taking in everything. Arms, back, ass, legs, _all of it._ And he _has_ already seen all of it, but not this up close and personal. More like from a really far distance and only glances here and there.

Tucker shakes his head to _wake the fuck up._ What the fuck is happening? Wash doesn’t do this. Wash purposefully changes _inside_ the shower room to avoid situations like this. He always has. And he literally turned away from Tucker to change his shirt last night, which, now that Tucker thinks about it, he feels guilty for having looked. 

He gets distracted once again when Wash takes out a pair of briefs and is literally about to yank off his towel and--

“What the fuck!?” Tucker finally finds his voice and turns around, panicking. “Wash, what are you _doing?”_

“I’m getting dressed,” Wash says, sounding confused from behind him. “I showered.”

“Yeah, I-- I _know_ that! Dude, you _never_ change in front of anyone,” Tucker says, still freaked out. 

“I… don’t?” Wash still sounds confused, but even more so now.

“No.” Tucker frowns, realizing Wash is having a lapse in memory. He still has his back to Wash. “Wash, you hide in the changerooms or the showers, waiting ‘til everyone else is gone before you change, and you don’t even like to get out of your armor in front of anyone, not even Carolina.” Wash doesn’t say anything. “I think you’re having a lapse in your memory right now, Wash. Because of the cerebral hypoxia.”

Wash _still_ doesn’t answer, and Tucker doesn’t want to risk turning around and seeing Wash naked to check if he’s okay, so Tucker adds, “Look, I’ve never seen you naked and I’m not opposed to it, but I’m not sure this is how you wanna show me your dick for the first time.”

“I’m not. Naked, I mean. You can turn around.”

Tucker does slowly, and finds Wash standing in his briefs, looking… upset. There’s a sight Tucker never thought he’d fucking see.

This time, Tucker has no problem only looking into Wash’s eyes.

“I used to change in Freelancer without a problem,” Wash starts, his cheeks a little red but his eyes are mostly sad. “With the guys. After training and stuff. I guess I just felt like that Wash again for a second.” 

Tucker doesn’t know what to say for a moment. Wash takes the opportunity to sit on his own bed, putting his face in his hands. “You’re right, I _don’t_ do this. How could I forget that? The Wash now wouldn’t do this. God, this is so embarrassing.”

Tucker sits next to him. “You know… you don’t have to be ‘the Wash now’. We should just face the fact and accept that that Wash doesn’t exist anymore,” he says thoughtfully. “He’s been gone since you got shot again. The _real_ Wash now has lapses in memory, sure, but you crack jokes easier because of it. You can sure as hell get naked easier ‘cause of it.” Wash grins the slightest bit, looking away. “You, and hell, me and the others should accept the new you. We already know you’re going to be different. We shouldn’t point out every single new and different thing that you do since it’s obviously getting you down. We should just… think of it like we’re meeting you again for the first time.”

Wash nods a little, saying, “You have a point. I guess the me now _does_ include all of those things.” He still seems upset and embarrassed, avoiding Tucker’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, Wash,” Tucker says with a frown. “Maybe I just shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I appreciate it. I do like to know when I’m doing something weird just so I can try to remember for later.” Wash shakes his head and adds, “Also, you were right. I wouldn’t have wanted to show you my dick for the first time like that. That’s not really _either_ of our styles.”

Tucker looks at him, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Wash finally looks at him, grinning. “Relax. I make innuendos now, remember?”

“Another sex joke? You getting naked in front of me? Now I’m _really_ starting to like post-injury Wash,” Tucker teases with a smirk.

“Shut up.” Wash knocks his shoulder against Tucker’s, still grinning. 

“So, you gonna get dressed or just sit around naked all day?” Tucker asks him. 

The older blonde turns a little red again and quickly stands up, going through his drawers for clothes. Tucker does not have _any_ shame in openly checking him out since Wash isn’t trying to hide himself at the moment.

“God damn it, Tucker. You really had to just throw my stuff into random drawers? There’s no order to any of this. You mixed sweats with t-shirts.”

Tucker leans back and watches Wash complain and start to rearrange, still just in his briefs, and Tucker could _not_ be happier about his new living situation.

  
  


“So, you were naked in front of him?”

“No!” Wash exclaims, hiding his face in his hands. “Not completely, thank god.”

Carolina looks at him with a small smirk. She’s currently making a pot of coffee in the kitchen and Wash is leaning against the counter.

“I think it’s good you’re becoming more open with your body,” she says to him. 

“I’m not,” he responds, looking up at her through his fingers. “I literally just _forgot._ It was like I was in Freelancer again.”

“I didn’t know you walked around naked in Freelancer.” There’s teasing to her tone. “You were always in armor whenever I saw you.”

“Not naked! And obviously I wasn’t around you. You probably wouldn’t have been too impressed.”

Carolina pours two cups of coffee, sliding one to him. 

“That’s true,” she responds thoughtfully. She then grins at him, again. “Tell me more about these naked adventures in Freelancer.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing the sugar container. He starts to pour spoonfuls into his mug. Now that they live in the city and aren’t running on rations, he’s happy to be able to put however much sugar he wants.

“Well, it started with York and Wyoming getting into an argument after a day of training. We all just finished showering and they were standing there, in the middle of getting dressed, when Wyoming challenged York to a rock paper scissors game to settle their argument. Then it turned into a whole underwear-only tournament for the next few days. Everyone got involved, Maine, North, Florida.. I lost after my first game and the underwear thing kinda stuck even long after the tournament ended. York specifically gave me a lot of shit for it afterwards.”

“Of course he did,” she chuckles, sipping on his own cup of coffee. “So, why’s it different with Tucker?”

“It’s not just him, it’s everyone. I don’t know.” He looks down. “I feel more awkward now, I guess.”

“Why?”

“What are you, my therapist?” Wash jokes, looking at her over his mug.

“I might as well be.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re just talking, Wash. You can tell me anything. Even all of your problems with your new roommate.”

“I know…” He hesitates, trying to think of where his hiding-while-changing routine started. “I guess it was when I joined Blue team. They were unfamiliar and I was paranoid so I kept to myself. Then after that it was just normal, but I also became weary of all the scars and stuff and didn’t want anyone to comment.”

“It sounds like you feel vulnerable and a little self-conscious?”

Wash scoffs, half because it’s weird Carolina is telling him stuff like this about himself, and half because those characterizations sound dramatic and like they’re for people that are half his age.

“You don’t think so?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully. “It just sounds ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. Everyone has their things. I don’t like wearing my glasses because every time I see myself it reminds me of my father and I’d rather dry my eyes out with contacts.”

Wash looks at her, a little surprised. 

“Really?”

Carolina nods. “We all have things that make us uncomfortable.”

He looks down into his black, sweet coffee, thinking for a moment. “Today, uh…” Wash pauses, not sure how to word what he wants to say next. “Even after I realized that I was _almost_ naked in front of Tucker, it’s like I didn’t… mind? I wasn’t uncomfortable. And I know he was looking after, and I still didn’t mind. I didn’t even rush to get dressed. I actually took my time and started rearranging my clothes for a few minutes.” 

He meets her eyes and she’s looking at him with a weird expression. Her expression slowly changes and she starts to chuckle, and then laughs out loud. He feels embarrassed, watching her cover her mouth as she tries to stop.

“Do I even want to know what’s so funny?” he asks nervously as she continues to chuckle, biting her lip.

“Wash, I…” Carolina stops to laugh again and then just smiles at him, her eyes sparkling. “Were you trying to show off your body to Tucker?”

He accidentally inhales on the sip of coffee he started to take and immediately begins coughing. Carolina starts laughing _again,_ gently patting him on the back.

“You always were so easy to tease, Wash.”

His face feels extremely hot as he continues to cough into his arm. “Fuck you, Lina,” he manages out.

She giggles, literally _giggles._ Wash is irritated that she’s enjoying this so much, but he’s also happy to see her smiling and laughing so much, even if it _is_ at his own expense and dignity.

Wash finally gets his breathing under control and clears his throat. He grabs his mug.

“I think I’ll just go enjoy my coffee somewhere else.”

“Hey,” she says, grabbing his arm to keep him from going. She gets serious in the matter of seconds. “I’m happy you guys worked through your shit. I’m happy Tucker is there for you and you’re there for him. I’m happy that you’re doing considerably well, despite everything. Just be careful, okay? He’s not known for commitment.”

Wash is sure he looks puzzled as he looks at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not-- are you insinuating that I think of Tucker as anything other than a friend? Because I _don’t.”_

“Okay, Wash. I’m just saying. You two are getting really close and you’re rooming together now and I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I won’t,” he snaps and yanks his arm from her grip. “Why the fuck does everyone keep thinking that?”

She looks a little confused at his sudden anger. “Thinking what?”

“That I--” Wash doesn’t want to say the words _I like Tucker._ He’s too frustrated. “That we’re a thing! We’re not! He’s my _friend,_ so I don’t need to worry about him hurting me!”

“Wash,” she starts, now looking ready to argue, but she approaches with a gentle voice. “He avoided you for a few days and your entire mood shifted because of it. I think whether you’re friends or more, it is very possible he can hurt you.”

He knows she’s right but he doesn’t want to accept it. He doesn’t want to accept whatever feelings he has for the aqua soldier that have started growing in his chest any time he sees him, or how he feels when he and Tucker fight.

“We’re not more,” Wash responds harshly. “We’re friends and now we’re bunking together. That’s it. And sorry that I care if my friends are avoiding me.”

Wash knows he’s being irrational. He feels the anger creeping up on him, that switch in his brain that flips so easily now because of the cerebral hypoxia, and he doesn’t care. 

“I’m sorry, Wash, I just want you to be--” she starts to say, and she sounds _so_ nice and gentle. But he doesn’t care at the moment.

“I’m not a fucking kid, Carolina!” he shouts at her, actually _shouts._ “How I feel and my decisions are _mine._ I don’t want you or Dr. Grey or anyone else telling me how I feel or what I should do! If I can’t even do that for myself, then _fuck,_ what’s the fucking point?!”

He doesn’t wait for her answer and storms out of the kitchen, ignoring the hurt on her face as he leaves, letting the door shut heavily behind him.

Wash feels the anger hitting him harder as he storms down the halls, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’s angry at _everything._ He’s angry at Carolina and Grif for seeing the things that Wash doesn’t want to face yet. Carolina, again, for being right, because Wash is a dumb ass who feels everything too deeply and clearly has abandonment issues. He’s angry at his cerebral hypoxia for making him angry. 

Maybe in a normal world he could let himself like Tucker and he wouldn’t react like a fucking idiot any time anyone brought him up around Wash in any remotely suggestive way.

But this isn’t a normal world and more so, Wash isn’t normal and he’s terrified of literally _everything_ that would come with a relationship. And who’s to say Tucker even has feelings for him? He probably doesn’t. Wash is fucked up. He’s fucked up beyond repair, _especially_ now. 

Wash can accept that Tucker just wants to help him now because he sees them as friends and that’s it. Tucker _did_ tell Wash that he felt guilty for his injury, anyways. So, that’s the whole reason he’s doing all of this. It has to be. 

He doesn’t even realize he made it to the gym until he realizes he’s staring through the window, watching a few teenagers use the equipment. He itches to go inside and beat the shit out of a punching bag, but he forces himself not to. He can’t yet, he’s still healing. Even though he knows it might not make a different outcome anyways, that he’ll probably still just have a scrambled up brain even after he’s cleared by Dr. Grey, he can’t. Everyone would be disappointed in him for starting too early if something did happen.

Instead, he pushes open a random door nearby that leads outside and he immediately sits down on the ground with his back against the wall. He pulls his legs up to his chest and rests his arms on his knees where he can hide his face in the crook of his elbow.

He tries to breathe through the feelings boiling in him. Anger, sadness, guilt. He already feels bad for yelling at Carolina. She was just trying to help and she was right about everything.

Wash wants to get up and head back in to find her and apologize, but he doesn’t. He continues sitting there, breathing deeply.

He does need to be careful. He can’t… He can’t flirt with Tucker. He _will_ just end up getting hurt, and it won’t be Tucker’s fault, like Carolina thinks, or anyone else’s fault. It’ll just be his own.

Wash stays there for a while. He doesn’t even realize that he’s outside with no armor on for what might be the first time in years until he feels the sun beating down on him. It makes him look up at the sky and he closes his eyes, letting the sun hit his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, not gonna lie, it is SO hard to write Wash. He's so complex, but that's why I fucking love him and writing him. I know it seems like he's all over the place in this work, but that's kind of the point. I'm really trying to go off of season 16 Wash who we saw with cerebral hypoxia, which means a Wash who can go from sad to silly, from silly to angry, etc. in just a second. 
> 
> I feel like this work is already more than halfway done, but who knows. I didn't plan this work out at all and I still haven't. I have a general idea of what kind of things I want to happen in a chapter before I write them, but other than that, I just kind of start writing, so wherever it takes me I guess!
> 
> Thank you for all of the love! I'm aiming to still do weekly updates! :) 
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	8. Chapter 8

“Chocolate is better than candy. There’s no argument about it, Kai.”

“Nuh uh, big bro. All chocolate tastes the same, but candy has so much variation! Hard candy, soft candy, chewy candy, candy underwear—”

“You’re a  _ psycho _ if you actually believe that. There’s dark chocolate, white chocolate, milk chocolate, chocolate with nuts… And don’t talk about candy underwear around me!”

“I’m surprised Kai  _ doesn’t _ like chocolate with nuts in it.”

“Shut up, Simmons! That’s my sister!”

“I  _ do _ like chocolate with nuts in it! That’s the best kind! Still not better than candy, though, no matter how much I like nuts.”

“Is Wash hot?”

Grif, Simmons and Kai stop arguing and look at Tucker. They’re all hanging out in Grif and Simmons’ room some time after noon. There’s a pile of wrappers on the ground where Kai keeps throwing her garbage next to where she’s lounged out on the ground. Simmons is sitting next to her, folding laundry that looks like a combination of his own and Grif’s. Grif is laying on his bed.

“What?” Grif asks.

“Is Wash hot?” Tucker asks, again.

“And I repeat: what?”

“I need to know if he’s hot,” Tucker says, looking at them from where he’s seated on a chair. “He  _ is  _ hot, right? It’s not just me who sees it? He’s like,  _ really  _ fucking hot?”

“I—wh—that’s—” Simmons stutters, the human side of his face starting to go red. “Agent Washington is our superior—kind of— I don’t—”

“Yeah, he’s hot,” Grif says, interrupting Simmons, who gives Grif a dirty look. “What? I have eyes.”

Tucker looks at Kai expectantly, waiting for her answer.

“The cop is hot,” she confirms, twirling a long strand of curly hair around her finger.

“Everyone’s hot to you,” Grif says, sounding a little annoyed.

“That’s true!”

“Why are you asking us this?” Simmons asks, folding an orange hoodie.

“I’ve always  _ known  _ Wash was hot,” Tucker starts, leaning forward in the chair to rest his chin in his hand with his elbow on his thigh. “Like, yeah, I have fucking eyes too, y’know? Dude’s got a pretty face, nice hair, cute freckles. And his  _ body?  _ I always knew he had a hot ass bod too. I mean, he always out did me in squats and laps and push ups no matter  _ what.  _ But then I saw him today, a  _ lot  _ of him, and I felt like, more aware of it all. Like, whoa, this guy isn’t just hot, he’s fucking sexy. You know?”

Simmons is red again, Kai is grinning, and Grif is staring at him.

“No,” Grif says flatly. “No, we  _ don’t  _ know. None of us have ever thought about Wash like that.”

“Yeah, not even me!” Kai chimes in. “I can appreciate a hot person but I don’t wanna fuck the cop. He’s not my type.”

“What?” Tucker frowns. “I didn’t say I want to  _ fuck  _ him.”

“Dude, you’re daydreaming about him.” Grif motions to him which makes Tucker sit up, removing his chin from his hand, which  _ did  _ look like he was daydreaming about Wash.  _ Was  _ he daydreaming about Wash? “And we don’t notice that shit about him or think he’s sexy, he’s just hot. Right, Simmons?”

“Well—I—right,” Simmons adds weakly, still flustered.

“Thanks guys. Super helpful.” Tucker crosses his arms, looking out the window to the city.

Grif sits up on the bed. “Wait, so, what’s the problem here? You’re attracted to Wash?”

“I don’t know,” Tucker responds, glancing at him. “Wouldn’t it be kind of crazy if I was?”

“Not really. You’re attracted to anything that walks.”

“Hey, that’s not true!”

“Isn’t it, though?”

“Don’t be mean, big bro!” Kai interrupts and then looks at Tucker from the ground. “Be loud and proud of who you’re attracted to, Tucker! I think you should  _ totally  _ go for him. I see the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him! Honestly, just the way both of you guys look at each other is what we’re all dying for in a partner!”

“Isn’t that right,” Simmons vocalizes a little sarcastically, making Grif shoot him a dirty look.

“Right… so, you think he’d go for it? I mean, this  _ is  _ Wash we’re talking about,” Tucker says. He’s  _ never  _ seen Wash look at anyone like they’re claiming he looks at Tucker, let alone  _ flirt  _ with anyone or God forbid actually  _ get  _ with them. Wash has clearly never been into Carolina, they’re more like siblings, and he’s never shown any interest in any other girls  _ or  _ guys that have crossed their paths. 

He supposes there  _ were  _ those sex jokes that Wash has only started saying as of late, which indicates that Wash  _ has  _ received a blowjob and he also claims he’s not a virgin, so other than that, Tucker guesses the guy hasn’t fucked or had a relationship of any sorts at  _ least  _ since they met each other all of those years ago. 

That thought is kind of daunting, but Tucker pushes it away. He’s been lots of people’s firsts for all sorts of different things. But what is there to say that Wash even wants  _ Tucker  _ to be his first in that long?

“And it’s also  _ you  _ we’re talking about,” Grif says to him. “Wash would be pretty stupid to do anything with you.” Tucker rolls his eyes as Grif adds,  _ “But  _ I do think he’d be down, for some reason.”

“Thanks,” Tucker says flatly and then feels his interest piqued. They  _ actually  _ think Wash would be interested in him? “You  _ really  _ think so, though? I have to be sure about this.”

“Yes, Tucker!” Kai says excitedly. “We all see the longing looks down the hall, the way he fell asleep when you played with his hair in the hospital, how he sticks to you like glue like Simmons does with Dex…” Tucker raises his eyebrows, glancing at Simmons and Grif. Grif looks away, rolling his eyes, while Simmons blushes and continues folding laundry silently. Tucker realizes he must be missing something because he somehow just then realizes there is only  _ one  _ bed in Grif and Simmons’ room. “So, yeah, I think he’d fuck you! He’s as tense as a cop gets but cops are  _ dirty  _ for a reason!” 

“Hang on guys,” Simmons speaks up. “Does Agent Washington really seem like a fuck-and-that’s-it kinda guy?”

“Definitely not,” Grif responds, grabbing a chocolate bar from Kai’s pile. “Which is a problem for you, dude.”

“Maybe not,” Tucker says, playing with the elastic band around his wrist as he looks down at it. “Maybe I don’t wanna just fuck and that’s it? Maybe I wanna  _ keep  _ fucking and that  _ still  _ not just be it. Maybe I wanna try something more.”

No one says anything, making Tucker look up at them. They’re all staring at him. Grif’s hand is frozen in front of his mouth, which is open, about to take a bite from his chocolate.

“What?”

“Dude, you are so  _ fucked,” _ Grif says.

“What?” Tucker repeats.

“You’re  _ so fucked!  _ You just said you don’t want to  _ just  _ fuck him! You want to  _ keep  _ fucking him  _ and more?!” _

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard your voice go that high, Grif.”

“Shut the fuck up, don’t change the subject!” Grif snaps, putting his chocolate down. “I could always tell you had a thing for him, but you… you…”

“Want to  _ date  _ him,” Simmons finishes for him. Grif nods, motioning at Simmons.

“Okay, I’m starting to get uncomfortable with this conversation,” Tucker says and starts standing up. “I’m outta here.”

“Hey, wait! What’re you going to do about Wash?” Kai asks Tucker as he heads for the door. “Are you gonna try to fuck him? Or ask him out? Or-- something else?”

Tucker stops in the door and looks back at the three of them. “I’m gonna flirt with him. See what he’s down for. And whatever he’s down for, then I’m down for.”

He leaves before they can say anything else and starts heading back to his and Wash’s room.

Tucker didn’t want to reveal to them about how he really feels sometimes. Like how he wants to hug Wash more, or to hold his hand more like he’s so bravely done. He didn’t mention how his heart literally  _ broke  _ when he saw Wash crying from a nightmare. How his heart sank when he saw Wash get shot. How he smiles whenever Wash smiles because it’s such a rare fucking sight. And how that definitely screams  _ I like Wash.  _

He wanted to keep that to himself.

He still can’t believe that he’s actually accepting this now. He has a crush on Wash. How the fuck did that creep up on him? Or has he always felt something towards him since the crash site and  _ Freckles, shake  _ days? Has it just been amplified since Wash got shot?

Tucker walks down the Blue hall, approaching his new bedroom door.

Okay, he can totally do this. He can charm and flirt with Wash. He does all the time as a joke anyways, right?

He stops outside their room, his hand hovering over the knob. 

Except this isn’t a joke now. This is real. This is  _ really  _ real. This is fucking happening, with all of Tucker’s intent and purpose of getting somewhere with Wash. He  _ cannot  _ fuck this up or ruin anything.

Because… this is  _ Wash.  _ Agent Washington. The cold Recovery One. The hell-bent on revenge Washington who stopped the Meta once. The Freelancer who turned on them and shot Lopez and Donut. The part-time Blue team leader. The guy who turned against Carolina for  _ them.  _ The Wash who was planning on sticking around even after they took the Director down and before they crashed on Chorus. The Wash who he argued with and then just really  _ missed  _ and worried about after he got taken by the Feds. The Wash who he got back, and then almost lost again after getting shot in the throat. 

The Wash that likes having his hair played with. The Wash that reciprocates Tucker’s hand holding. The Wash that has started opening up to him so much lately and being honest and real. The Wash that  _ really  _ likes chocolate cake, apparently. The Wash that has started to say thank you and accept that Tucker just wants to do nice things for him.

Fuck. Tucker really likes him. Like,  _ really  _ likes him.

He finds the fucking balls to just open the door and walk inside. 

He’s a little relieved to find that Wash isn’t there, giving him more time to throw himself onto his bed and stare at the ceiling while he tries to figure out what the fuck he’s going to do.

  
  


Wash stays outside for so long that the sun starts setting in the distance. He goes back inside and heads for his room.

He knows he should find Carolina as soon as possible to apologize for getting mad at her when all she did was tell the truth, but he’s tired and his mind is still a little hazy and scrambled. He should probably apologize when he isn’t so emotional.

Wash walks all the way back to his room across the base, trying to avoid people while he’s out of armor and not in the best of moods.

He’s relieved once he finally gets back to his room undisturbed. He’s ready to just hide from the world for a couple of hours and then go make dinner later in the kitchen when it’s unoccupied.

Opening the door, Wash stops in his tracks. 

Tucker is passed out in his own bed, across from Wash’s. He’s not under the covers or anything. It looks like he just fell asleep accidentally. 

Wash stands in the doorway, unmoving. He  _ might  _ have forgotten about his new roommate for a second.

Damn it. The last thing he needs is to face Tucker right now. But he can’t just  _ avoid  _ him, not now that they’re roommates. And it would be  _ awfully  _ hypocritical of him to avoid Tucker, anyways. 

He needs to just push all feelings aside and act normal. Like friends. Like they’ve always been. Like they always will be. 

Wash steps into the room and slowly closes the door behind him. He glances at Tucker, glad to see he’s still asleep. He’s never taken Tucker for a napper, but he guesses after last night he probably didn’t sleep well on the ground. Wash feels guilty but pushes that feeling aside too. He really does want to do better and listen to Tucker’s advice. He  _ will  _ let his friends do nice things for him but he will  _ not  _ indulge in a relationship of any sorts. That just has bad written all over it. Wash is very, very bad luck. The only kinds of relationships he can keep are friendships, and even then sometimes they end with someone getting left behind or shot in the back.

He carefully walks towards his bed, stepping around some of Tucker’s belongings that are still in boxes spread around on the ground. He tries not to look at his personal belongings, but he can’t help it when he spots a picture frame sitting on top of a bunch of stuff in a box. Wash grabs it to look at it closer.

It’s a picture of Tucker and Junior. Tucker’s got his armor on but his helmet off, smiling at whoever was taking the picture. Junior is a good several feet taller than Tucker, but his arm is wrapped around his father’s shoulders, holding him close. They look like they’re on a foreign planet Wash doesn’t recognize.

Wash can’t help the small, fond grin that appears on his face as he looks at the picture. He’s never met Junior, but the way Tucker talks about him, he can tell he’s a great person. Er, alien.

And Wash knows Tucker’s a great dad even though he’s never seen it in action. The countless pictures Tucker keeps of Junior, like the basketball team one and this one and so many others Wash has briefly spotted over the years, is just a small thing that speaks to Tucker’s parenting. The talks they’ve had about Junior, too, flash in his mind, like whenever Tucker smiled proudly while talking about their time as ambassadors. 

Wash makes the mistake of sitting on his bed and it squeaks just loud enough to make Tucker stir awake. He opens one eye first, seeing it’s Wash, and then he starts stretching his arms above his head. 

“Mmmmm, what time is it?”

“Just past 8.”

“Shit. I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight now.” Tucker frowns, sitting up. “I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“You must’ve been tired,” Wash says a little sheepishly. “Sorry for waking you. I wasn’t aware of how squeaky my bed is.”

“It’s fine. Let’s just keep in mind for when we eventually fuck, we’ll do it in my bed.”

“Yeah… wait, what?” Wash almost chokes on his own saliva and almost drops the picture of Tucker and Junior. He fumbles with it before catching it, his hands already starting to sweat. 

“Unless you’re more into the whole  _ let the place know we’re fucking  _ kinda thing. I’m down for squeaky or no squeaky. Which would you prefer?”

“I--I don’t--” Wash can’t even formulate a sentence as he stares at Tucker across from him. They face each other from their own beds, Tucker smirking at him tiredly, his dreads down and messily splaying over his shoulders and back. It’s clear Tucker isn’t going to help Wash out here, so he finally manages out, “Neither.”

“You prefer the floor? Okay, that works, too.”

“Tucker!” Wash  _ hates  _ how high his voice is. He sounds like he does when he’s angrily or confusedly trying to understand something Caboose or Sarge are doing. Like,  _ you thought removing all the pedals from the Warthog was a good idea WHY? _

“I’m just pulling your chain, dude,” Tucker says with a laugh, but he’s still smirking and his eyes have a glint to them.

Wash turns his attention to the picture in his hands, scowling. His face feels hot. “Is this what I’ve signed up for being your roommate?”

“Yep.” Tucker stands up, stretching a little more, and Wash really, honestly, does  _ not  _ look when his shirt rides up a bit. (He does). “Whatcha looking at?” Tucker walks over to stand a few inches in front of Wash, a little too close for Wash’s whole anti-relationship and no-liking-Tucker thing that he’s trying to accomplish. It’s really not helping. What the fuck is wrong with Tucker right now?

_Okay, hang on. Relax, Wash._ _This is just normal Tucker behavior. Just treat it like so._

Wash realizes he hasn’t said anything, but thank god Tucker keeps talking. 

“Oh, I love that picture,” he says, taking it from Wash’s hands. Wash doesn’t miss the way Tucker almost completely grabs his entire hand to just take the frame. “This was between Blood Gulch and Sandtrap. We were on some random alien planet for a while, being cool ass father and son ambassadors.”

“It’s a nice picture,” Wash says weakly and distractedly. He clears his throat. “Have you heard from him lately?”

“Not for a while,” Tucker says dismissively, putting the picture on his nightstand beside his bed. Wash decides not to ask anymore about it. He starts to walk back over to Wash but trips on a box with a thud. “Ow!”

“You should really unpack all of this.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it. You busy or you wanna help?”

“I can help,” Wash says and stands back up, looking at the boxes on the ground. How does Tucker even have this much stuff? “What is all of this, anyways?” 

“It’s my personal shit,” Tucker responds and bends down to pick up some stuff. “Like, this is the last letter my mom wrote to me before she passed away. And this was Junior’s favorite toy when he was born. This was Church’s old radio that he let us use in Blood Gulch to listen to the same radio frequency over and over. Pretty sure it was actually just Vic’s playlist in the caves.”

“And you make fun of me for keeping Caboose’s drawings,” Wash teases, ever so slightly, because it’s just so easy to fall into this banter with Tucker.

Tucker grins at him. “Don’t forget about mine too. Besides, those are worthless.  _ These  _ are priceless.”

“Right, because I’m sure Alpha’s old radio from  _ Blood Gulch _ is even worth anything these days.”

“What do you think?” Tucker holds up the old radio that has two knobs and an antenna on it. “How much would it go for today?”

“Hmm… probably 5 cents?”

“What? That’s bullshit!”

“Well, considering everyone has datapads now, not really.”

“C’mon, an antique radio from Earth. Shit’s gotta be like, 10 bucks. I could probably trick Palomo into paying 50 for it.” 

That makes Wash chuckle as he sits on the ground, crossing his legs, and starts going through Tucker’s stuff. This is okay. This is safe. Wash can do this.

“I should have a yard sale,” Tucker says. “A  _ hall  _ sale. I think I’m a hoarder.”

“You don’t say?” Wash pulls out a little bag of what looks like a bunch of broken hair ties. Most are aqua, but some are other colors too. Reds, maroons, oranges, blues, yellows. “What are these?”

“Those are all the hair ties I’ve used since basic!”

“Okay.” Wash tosses the bag onto the ground. “This is the garbage pile.”

“What?! That’s  _ not _ garbage!” Tucker grabs his bag of broken hair ties. “These have sentimental value!”

“Yeah? And what’s that?”

“They… look cool.”

“Garbage,” Wash says flatly.

Tucker frowns. “You think I could sell these?”

“No.”

“I could try Caboose.”

Wash rolls his eyes but he’s grinning a little. “If we’re going to be roommates, you can’t keep most of this. There just isn’t space in here. Our armor already barely fits in the closet, mostly because you just threw yours in there instead of organizing it for maximum space.”

“Whatever, Simmons!” Tucker snorts. 

Tucker sits on the ground across from Wash, Tucker’s knee brushing his and then just staying there. Wash stares at it for a moment. He wishes they were both wearing shorts just to get more contact, but he quickly shoves that thought away and purposefully moves to grab another box.

They go through Tucker’s stuff for nearly an hour, making a garbage pile and a keep pile. Tucker protests to throwing out  _ anything,  _ which doesn’t frustrate Wash like it probably would have years ago. He just laughs at Tucker’s reactions and throws things in the garbage pile anyways. Tucker doesn’t retrieve them from the garbage, but he pouts the whole time.

It’s fun, Wash admits. He’s not worrying about anything in particular at the moment. He and Tucker just goof around and Wash teases him about holding on to certain things while Tucker rolls his eyes and tells Wash to shut up.

The room has gotten darker since the sun fully set outside and the lightbulbs from the lights in the room casts an orangey tone on them.

Wash spots something at the bottom of the last box, reaching down to grab it. It looks like a little journal or agenda of some sorts. He holds it up to Tucker.

“What is this? Garbage or keep?”

Tucker looks up from where he’s looking at some more pictures from his Blood Gulch days, clearly not organizing anymore. He instantly smirks, his eyes gleaming.

“Open it,” he tells Wash.

Wash confusedly opens the little book. It immediately opens to one page, seemingly the only page that was used, and something falls into his lap. He picks up whatever it was, and then immediately drops it on the ground, including the book.

“What the  _ fuck?!”  _ Wash shrieks as Tucker bursts out laughing. “Is that a  _ used condom?!” _

“Yep!” Tucker’s still laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

“Wh---why?!” is all Wash can make out.

“It’s from my first time!”

“Why would you  _ keep it?!” _

“It was a  _ super  _ important day, Wash. Couldn’t just throw it out.”

“Wha...  _ why not?!  _ God, I don’t even want to know how long you’ve had that! Christ, throw it  _ out,  _ Tucker! The book too!”

Tucker reaches over, grabbing both without a care in the world, and throwing them into a garbage bag with the other garbage Tucker’s been hoarding.

“Honestly, I completely forgot I had that until you showed me. It’s been in the same unpacked box for ages,” Tucker says. “I couldn’t help it when  _ you,  _ poor old Agent Washington, held up my condom book.”

Wash shakes his head, holding his hands away from his body. “I need to wash my hands.”

“Gonna have to walk all the way to the bathroom, dude.”

Wash sighs tiredly and just wipes his hands on his shirt. They’re not  _ actually  _ dirty, from what he can see, but he  _ feels  _ a little dirty now.

“You’re a terrible, terrible person,” Wash says. He stacks the empty boxes into each other and pushes them towards the door. The room is a little tidier now. There’s no boxes full of junk on the ground and Tucker managed to find a place for all the stuff he kept around the room. Some of his stuff, like Alpha’s old radio, is actually on Wash’s nightstand now because Tucker’s got too cluttered. 

“And yet, you still love me,” Tucker grins over at him, leaning his back against his own bed.

“Ha. Very far from that, Captain,” Wash says as casually as he possibly can and somehow keeps himself from turning red.

“Am I still a Captain?” 

“Have you been demoted?”

“No, I don’t think so?”

“Then yes,” Wash says and mimics Tucker’s position, leaning against his bed frame as well in order to face Tucker. Their legs almost touch, side by side in the middle of the room.

“Hm. Awesome. Definitely still outranks Agent.”

“Does not,” Wash responds stubbornly. They’ve had this argument way too many times to count and it never goes anywhere.

“Whatever you say, Wash.” Tucker meets his eyes and grins at him, knocking his leg against Wash’s on purpose. Wash doesn’t move his leg away this time, only because he thinks it’d be too obvious and totally  _ not  _ because he doesn’t want to. Because he does. Want to move his leg away, that is.

They stay quiet for a moment, Tucker’s eyes roaming over Wash’s face. Wash lets him, trying his hardest not to get too flustered while the dark man analyzes him.

“Where were you all day?” Tucker suddenly asks. “I came in looking for you, like, hours before I passed out.”

Wash remembers that he was outside for a few hours and that’s why he wasn’t here. And he was outside because he was pissed off and sad at the same time. 

He looks down to break Tucker’s gaze but still feels his eyes on him. “I… I had a fight with Carolina.”

“Oh, shit. About what?”

Wash hesitates, trying to decide on what to say. “Nothing. It was stupid, I was obviously wrong. I’m going to apologize to her tomorrow.”

“Damn, someone’s mature,” Tucker teases and Wash is just glad he doesn’t press for details. “So, where’d you spend the day, then? Outside? ‘Cause you look a little sunburnt.”

“What? Really?” Wash looks at his arms and they do look a little red. He hasn’t had a sunburn in years. 

“Yeah. Your cheeks are pretty red too. Or maybe you’re blushing?”

Wash blushes. “I don’t blush.”

“Oh, right,” Tucker snorts. “So, you were outside with no armor on? Is that what you’re fucking telling me?”

“Yeah,” Wash responds sheepishly, still blushing.  _ Fuck.  _ “I didn’t really notice at first but once I did I… didn’t care? It was pretty nice, actually.”

“That’s… wow,” Tucker says, looking surprised. “That’s different.”

“I know.”

“It’s not bad, though,” Tucker adds.

“I know,” Wash admits and meets his eyes again. Tucker smiles at him and Wash grins back. Progress. He pauses. “Wait, why were you looking for me?”

“No reason,” Tucker says quickly and breaks eye contact with him. “Just looking to annoy my new roommate.”

“Well, you successfully did it with all of your hoarding and that condom.”

“Okay, okay, relax. I threw it all out after keeping that shit for literal years. You should actually be flattered that it took  _ you  _ to make me get rid of it.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m  _ so  _ flattered, Tucker.”

Tucker chuckles and looks back at him, a small grin still on his face. “You wanna play a game? I’m not gonna be able to sleep for a while. It can be like the hospital days again.”

Wash hesitates, but eventually nods, saying, “Yeah. Yeah, sure. What do you have in mind?” It’s just a game, after all. No harm, no foul.

“Well first, I’m getting comfortable ‘cause my ass fucking hurts.” Tucker stands up, climbing onto his bed. He lays on his side, facing Wash, his hand holding up his head. “Wanna join me?” He motions to the area in front of him with a smirk.

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious.”

Wash blinks at him and scoffs, or chokes, or both. “Oh, well then… um, no thank you.” He quickly stands up and sits on his own bed.

Tucker is snickering in the background while Wash busies himself with taking his shoes off, his heart pounding a little faster. Does Tucker always make jokes like this and he never really noticed before or is Tucker actually just starting to flirt with him now, of all times, when Wash has sworn himself off from getting involved with anyone in any way? 

“Okay, so it’s called the alphabet game. We basically just choose any topic, like movies, or vegetables or something and we go through the letters of the alphabet and have to name something from the category that starts with the letter we’re on.”

“That doesn’t seem like much of a game,” Wash frowns. “It seems pretty easy.”

“Oh, it can get fucking  _ hard,  _ dude. Can I choose the category?”

“Sure.”

“Body parts.”

“What? I don’t know any body parts that start with weird letters like X or Z,” Wash complains.

“Let’s just hope you don’t get those two letters, then,” Tucker says with a smirk. “Do you accept the challenge, or what?”

“I thought it was a game.”

“Shut up! I’ll go first. A for ass, obviously.”

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Wash sighs. “Okay, B for--”

“Boner!” 

“Tucker! It’s my turn!”

“Yeesh, sorry! Didn’t know you got so wound up over games!”

Wash scowls at him. “Biceps.”

“Of which you have very nice ones,” Tucker comments, making Wash’s face get hot. “Ass, too!” Wash blushes even fucking  _ harder  _ upon hearing Tucker directly say he has nice arms and a nice ass. Jesus fucking Christ. “Which begs the question of the next letter: C for cock. I bet yours is also--”

“I can’t play this,” Wash says weakly, cutting Tucker off as he stands up and grabs some clothes he can sleep in from his dresser. 

“Okay, sorry, dude! It’s just a joke.”

Wash tries not to let his hands shake as he grabs a random t-shirt that he’s not even sure is a pajama shirt. 

“C’mon, Wash, I’ll cut it out! Let’s keep playing! I’ll change the category. We could do movies-- hey, where are you going?”

He’s already halfway through the door when he calls over his shoulder, “To the bathroom.” He leaves and doesn’t even close the door before speed walking down the hall towards the shared bathroom.

He can’t be around Tucker right now, not with the shit he’s saying. He wants to, Wash fucking  _ wants to.  _ He  _ wants  _ to indulge in Tucker’s flirting and hear what he has to say. He  _ wants  _ to maybe,  _ possibly  _ flirt back, as bad as he is at it. 

Fuck, he really does. But he can’t, and he can’t let himself get too close like that, because Carolina was right. He would just get hurt.

Wash spends a long time getting ready for bed and when he returns to their room, he turns off the lights quickly, getting into bed. Tucker is sitting up, waiting for him, and tries to say something, but Wash just says that he’s tired and rolls over to face the wall. He lays awake for hours, trying to fall asleep, and still doesn’t fall asleep even when Tucker snores lightly from his bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuuuuuck, sorry this chapter came a week late. I've been super busy moving out of my apartment and with finals right now :( I finish my online classes in a couple of days, though, and start work Monday so I hope that gives me more time to write!! But don't worry, I'm not abandoning this fic. I'm going to see it through no matter what!
> 
> Idk how I feel about this chapter, it was a little harder to write mostly because I was just trying to get into Tucker and Wash's heads regarding their perspectives on their relationships, so not a lot happens, but I hope you enjoy it anyways.
> 
> Have a fantastic weekend loves!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!!!!


	9. Chapter 9

Wash thinks Tucker might be hitting on him.

Between the night before with the stupid alphabet game and the little touches here and there and in the morning with Tucker getting out of bed, shamelessly naked, and Wash running out of the room trying not to look, Wash thinks Tucker might be hitting on him.

When Tucker drops a spoon in the kitchen while making coffee and he bends over dangerously close to Wash’s crotch, who jumps out of the way, he realizes Tucker is  _ definitely  _ hitting on him.

He manages to escape with an excuse to go talk to Carolina, which isn’t all that much of an excuse, really, and he practically runs out, leaving Tucker in the kitchen with an enthusiastic Caboose and a chuckling Grif.

Wash spends the next half hour trying to track down Carolina. His mind is racing as he tries her room first in the Reds hall just to find it empty. He even checks with President Kimball, who he runs into while she walks out of a meeting room, but she doesn’t know where Carolina is either. He hurries off with a quick thanks, anyways. 

He eventually finds her at the gym. She’s sparring with Andersmith on a mat, to Wash’s surprise, but he figures Andersmith is probably one of the closest fighters capable of taking on Carolina besides Caboose when it comes to strength. However, she still seems to be wiping the floor with his ass.

“Carolina!” Wash calls as he enters. She looks up at him, clearly surprised to see him, and is that guilt on her face? She barely dodges one of Andersmith’s punches before telling him to take a break. Andersmith nods with a yes ma’am and nods at Wash while he heads to a bench.

“Wash,” Carolina says, still sounding surprised as he walks up to her. She stands there, unmoving. 

“Hey. I wanted to talk.” Wash fidgets with his hands nervously. He needs to apologize first and then talk to her about Tucker again. Shit, he feels like a dick for coming to apologize then sprouting more problems onto her.

“Okay,” she responds, her eyebrows furrowed. She bites her bottom lip before saying, “Before we do, I just want to say I’m sorry. I know we’re sparring partners and I shouldn’t be doing it without you, you’re still hurt for god's sake, and it’s terrible of me to start without you when you can’t and that’s really shitty of me, I should be  _ waiting  _ for you--”

“Whoa, what?” Wash cuts her off, frowning. “Lina, I’m not upset that you’re sparring without me. In fact, I’m glad you’re keeping up. You really don’t need to worry about me. It doesn’t bother me at all. Why would you even be worried about that?”

“Well, we’ve been partners for so long,” she replies softly. “I didn’t want you to think that that’s changing or anything. And I… I do feel guilty that I can continue while you can’t.”

“Please, don’t,” he says gently. “Don’t feel guilty about that. It actually calms my paranoia knowing you’re still keeping up even though we have no battles to fight right now.”

“Well, one of us has to stay sharp,” Carolina says lightly, and even offers a grin, which Wash returns. The smile quickly falls from her face, though. “Okay. Here’s something for me to feel guilty about: I’m sorry for assuming things about you and Tucker. It wasn’t my place to do so, and it definitely wasn’t my place to tell you what to do about it.”

Wash shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize for that. You were right,” he admits. “You assumed everything correctly and everything you said was true. You were just trying to look out for me and I was an asshole. I’m really, really sorry Carolina. I know my fucking brain injury isn’t an excuse to be a dick and I’m really going to work harder on getting through these… mood swings I get. I’m going to talk to Dr. Grey about it-- but that’s besides the point. I’m sorry. You were right about everything and I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Wash,” Carolina says quietly. “It’s okay. I figured you just needed time. I didn’t take  _ any  _ offense by it.”

“Okay,” he nods. “Good. Thank you, Lina.”

“Of course.” She grins at him, her green eyes soft and light. “So… Can I ask--”

“Yeah, I like him,” Wash admits out loud for the first time and immediately feels his face heating up as he looks down. Before he doesn’t have the courage to say it anymore, he quickly adds, “And everything you said is right. I don’t want to get hurt because of a stupid crush and because I like him and actually  _ want  _ something other than just a fling or a fuck buddy or whatever… And even if he  _ did  _ like me back, I don’t think I can--” He stops to swallow, his throat feeling tight. “I’m a fucking mess. I don’t know if anyone, I don’t know if  _ Tucker  _ would--” Wash stops again and this time just exhales slowly. “... So I am being careful, like you said.”

He glances at her and sees her analyzing him, a frown etched on her lips.

“Wash, you can’t just assume stuff like that about Tucker. You should  _ try,  _ it’s the least you owe yourself  _ and  _ him. You deserve something good.”

“I can’t,” he responds automatically. “I can let you and the others help me out and stuff, and that’s already hard enough on its own, but I can’t with Tucker. The amount of bad shit that follows me? I just-- I can’t.”

“Stop talking like that,” Carolina says firmly, her frown deepening. “I thought Tucker talked some sense into you about stuff like this.”

“He did,” Wash says weakly, fidgeting with his hands again, feeling anxious. His heart is beating quicker while talking about stuff like this so openly, but he trusts Carolina with his life, like he does with Tucker. “This is different, though.”

She pursues her lips together in a line. “Well, have you talked to him about this?”

“No!” Wash exclaims and glances around the gym when some people look at him, then repeats quieter, “No. And I’m not going to because I think that if I did---” Wash stops. He thinks about Tucker flirting with him. The completely not subtle at  _ all  _ flirting. He sighs heavily. 

“What?” Carolina presses.

“I think he… I think he’s been flirting with me recently. No, he  _ definitely  _ has been.”

She rolls her eyes. “Wash, you’re so oblivious sometimes. He  _ always  _ flirts with you. In fact, I’ve never seen Tucker softer around anyone else  _ other  _ than you. Is it so bad that he’s flirting with you? Doesn’t that mean he likes you?”

“I don’t know! And I can’t know. I don’t want to know,” he panics, running a hand through his hair. “Like I said, I can’t start anything.” 

“I think you should talk to him,” she tells him flatly, crossing her arms over her teal tank top.

“No. I can’t,” he repeats, again, for what feels like the hundredth time in this conversation.

“Wash--”

“I’m going to go for a walk,” he interrupts her, already backing away. “Thanks for listening, Lina. Thank you. Seriously. For everything. I’ll talk to you later.” He quickly walks away before she can say anything else. He ignores Andersmith giving him an odd look on his way out.

He wishes Carolina could just understand that he’s fucking terrified of doing anything with anyone, especially Tucker, since he cares so much about him. He’s scared of losing Tucker, or hurting him, or him getting hurt or betrayed, even though that’s a stupid thought and Tucker wouldn’t ever hurt him purposefully. Wash is just… he’s a vulnerable person. He feels too much all the time. And he could  _ not  _ survive losing Tucker or having their dynamic change. It’s perfect the way it is, even if that means Tucker flirting with him until he fucking dies and Wash just rejecting him even though he wishes he could engage.

  
  


Tucker thinks his flirting techniques might be outdated.

No, that’s not possible. 

So then, Wash doesn’t like him.

No, that’s not possible either. Is it? Fuck. Tucker thought he could get  _ anyone. _ Wash is proving that to be a little difficult.

“I’m telling you, man, just keep trying. Wash just has a hard exterior,” Grif had told him when Tucker approached him with his worries. “He’ll come around.”

“Yeah, he totally has heart eyes for you!” Kai had chirped up.

That was on the second day of Tucker openly flirting with Wash. It’s been  _ days  _ now and he still hasn’t gotten anywhere with the blonde. Wash either leaves mid-conversation during Tucker’s descriptions of his best sex performances, or he pulls his hand away when Tucker puts his hand on Wash’s in the kitchen, or he stutters out a barely coherent answer when Tucker asks him about his favorite position (which, he still doesn’t know the answer to, but he will soon enough, god damn it). 

He’s still not going to give up, though. Mostly because he sees the way Wash looks at him now, like Grif and Kai told him. He sees the way Wash turns red and blinks a lot more and bites his lip when he’s nervously trying to talk back to Tucker. He sees the little things that keep him fucking going, because otherwise Wash would be a complete shot in the dark. And he’s happy he has a little guidance to keep him motivated.

Tucker walks back to his room, wearing a tight workout shirt and shorts that he  _ knows  _ he looks good in. He just worked out at the gym for a few hours and didn’t shower there so he’s still sweaty and has all intent of going into his and Wash’s room before showering, where he knows Wash  _ definitely  _ is since he may or may not have had Caboose report back to him about it. He’s got it planned out: Wash will see how good Tucker looks all sweaty and in clothes that show his body in all the right ways, and Wash will  _ finally  _ realize he wants to fuck him, and then they’ll just end up showering together.

It’s just one of his many great plans. He has a couple good ones like this up his sleeve that he’ll need to pull out if this one doesn’t work.

Tucker whistles while walking down the hallway, heading towards the Blue hall, when suddenly Carolina rounds the corner in front of him. He jumps backwards so hard he almost falls.

“Jesus fuck!” Tucker puts a hand over his heart, feeling it beating quicker since he just got scared to fucking  _ death.  _ “Mother fucking Freelancers!”

“Ex,” she corrects him sternly. “Tucker, I’m going to talk to you and I want you to listen to me.”

“What? About what?”

“I told you to  _ listen.” _

“Whoa, no.” Tucker holds a finger out to her, slowly backing away. “You have that look in your eye.”

“What? What look?” she asks innocently, but slowly advances towards him anyways.

“That same look you had when you were pushing us around during your  _ I’m-going-to-kill-the-Director  _ phase! That look that makes me want to shit my pants!”

“Tucker.”

His back hits a wall.  _ Fuck.  _ No running from scary Carolina.

“What did I even do this time?” he asks meekly.

She corners him against the wall menacingly, just a solid  _ few  _ inches away from his face. No one is in the hallway with them. She could totally kill him and he would die here.

He waits for it, waits for it...

“Stop trying to sleep with Wash.”

_ “What?” _

“You’re freaking him the  _ hell  _ out.”

“And I fucking ask again:  _ what?!” _

He’s  _ so  _ confused. How does she know about that and why does she care about it?

“Tucker, I have honestly  _ never  _ cared about your sex life,” she continues sternly. “No matter how many times you bragged about it or tried your own moves on me or someone else. I didn’t care. I just thought,  _ poor, poor soul.  _ But this is  _ Wash.  _ He’s extremely vulnerable right now, okay? And if you  _ hurt  _ him--”

“Whoa, what the fuck?! First, Wash talked to you about this? Was it a good freak out or bad freak out?” Tucker asks curiously. Carolina just glares at him and crosses her arms. “Okay, okay, private, I get it. Second, I am  _ not  _ going to hurt Wash! I just wanna bang him! Like… long term.”

Tucker never really thought that the first person he’d admit that to would be Carolina. He always thought it’d be Grif or Kai, or Lopez since he doesn’t speak English and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone else anyways. Besides Locus. But Tucker hasn’t even seen Locus around since the hospital.

But no, it’s Carolina. Which kind of makes sense, now that it’s happening.

The anger and intimidation leaves her face and she stares at him, looking perplexed. “You… what?”

“I wanna like…y’know. Have what you and Kimball have but with Wash.”

Carolina blushes, actually fucking  _ blushes _ and before Tucker can even point it out and tease her about it she snaps at him, “President Kimball and I do not  _ ‘have’  _ anything. What are you saying?” She changes the subject. “You want to  _ date  _ him?”

“Does that mean you and Kimball are dating?” he teases, a smirk slowly crossing his face.

_ “Tucker.” _

“Sorry! Shit. I mean, yeah, I guess I do...” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Want to… do what it is you just said. Fuck, if you’ve been talking to him though, don’t tell him that. I have plans and shit. They’re just taking longer than usual since he keeps running away.”

“Of course I won’t tell him. That’s your own secret,” Carolina says to him, finally stepping back and giving him space to breathe. His heart is still racing as she looks at him, in thought. “But, wow. You  _ really  _ want to date Wash?”

“Shit, lady, I already said it in like three different ways! Yes. I do. I want to fucking date Wash. Why is that so hard to believe? Is it the dude on dude thing?”

“No,” she responds. “That doesn’t surprise me, considering you want to sleep with anything that walks.”

“Why does everyone think that?!”

“Because it’s  _ true,”  _ she says flatly. “It’s just… you actually want to get into a relationship?”

“Yeah.” He kicks his foot at nothing on the ground, avoiding her eyes. He always forgets how intense and piercingly green they are when she doesn’t have her helmet on. He doesn’t know what else to say so he just says, “It’s different with him.”

Carolina is quiet for a few moments, making him look back up at her. She has a weird expression on her face, one that looks like she’s still thinking but also like she’s hiding something and also like she’s… relieved?

“You should talk to him,” she finally says, and he’s surprised at how soft her tone is. 

“Talk? No,” Tucker says immediately, shaking his head. “No, no, no. Talking is fucking  _ awkward.  _ I’m not good at talking, I’m good at  _ showing,  _ which is what I’m doing. Besides, even if I  _ did  _ talk to him, I guess there  _ might  _ be a  _ very  _ small chance that he doesn’t feel the same way, and that would definitely make things awkward as shit between us. I mean, that’s almost fucking impossible since I’m irresistable as fuck anyways. But still, I’m not gonna talk to him! I’m just gonna keep using all of my best moves on him.”

“Is  _ this  _ one of your best moves?” she asks, looking at him up and down. She doesn’t look impressed.

“Hey! The men and ladies  _ love  _ a sweaty, post-workout man in tight clothes!”

Carolina sighs heavily, looking annoyed. She still looks like she knows something or wants to say something but isn’t saying it. She does say, however, “Tucker, he deserves to know and you deserve to tell him the truth.”

Something about what she says sits with him and he takes a second before he responds, “Okay, fine, I’ll  _ think  _ about talking to Wash when the time’s right.”

“I guess that’s the best I’m going to get, huh?”

“Damn right.”

“Great.” Carolina rolls her eyes and starts to walk away. She stops, though, and looks back at him. “Tucker, if you  _ do  _ hurt him, you know I’ll kill you, right?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less, Red,” he responds.

That makes her smirk and she turns, walking away again while saying, “Fucking Blue team drama.”

Tucker grins to himself and starts heading back to his room again, because she is  _ so  _ right. Fucking Blue team drama.

When he gets back, Wash is there, as expected. But he takes one look at Tucker and somehow manages to slither past him, leaving the room, claiming he has to go help Caboose with something, which Tucker  _ knows  _ is fucking bullshit. 

  
  


“...Wash, get down! Wash!”

“Oh hey Tuck-- _ euagh!” _

Tucker watches Wash go down and he runs out from cover. He can hear Carolina shouting his name in the background but he doesn’t care. He then hears her yelling orders at the others and there’s a swarm of fire from behind him towards the enemies, taking out a number of them. Bullets whiz past his armor until he finally collapses on his knees beside Wash, letting his gun clatter to the ground. 

There’s a massive puddle of blood pooling under his helmet. Tucker unclasps Wash’s helmet, pulling it off as quickly but gently as he can with shaking hands and adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Wash is still alive,  _ fucking fuck,  _ and Tucker hates himself for even wondering for a split second if that’s good or absolutely fucking  _ terrible  _ because if Wash does die then this death is going to painful and horrifying to experience as his last moments alive.

Tucker shoves that terrifying thought that makes him want to throw up aside and wraps a hand gently around the front of Wash’s throat, applying pressure. He can feel Wash’s hot blood spurting onto his hand, soaking through his glove.

“Hang in there, Wash, I got you, dude,” the words fall from Tucker’s mouth quickly and he can’t believe he’s this calm. His mind is in overdrive and he can’t even  _ think. _

Wash tries to say something and it comes out in utterly horrifying, gurgling, choking sounds. Blood stains his teeth and his mouth and Tucker wipes some away from his bottom lip with his free gloved hand.

“Don’t fucking talk, Wash, just relax and stay with me, okay?”

Wash keeps making those sounds and it’s so, so bad, it sounds  _ so bad,  _ it sounds and looks like a goddamn horror movie. His grey eyes are blown wide with fear and consciousness that he hadn’t had just a minute ago while walking out into open fire and Tucker  _ hates  _ it.

“Stop trying to talk, Wash, okay? Someone fucking  _ HELP!” _ Tucker screams over his shoulder but no one is there to help. There aren’t even any enemies anymore. It’s just Tucker and Wash and Wash isn’t going to make it.

The blonde grasps Tucker’s free hand as he keeps struggling and choking on his own blood. Tucker’s hand is shaking so bad but Wash’s is steady, somehow. Tucker reaches up to yank off his own helmet since there isn’t anymore firing. They’re alone, the two of them, in the hangar.

Tucker doesn’t realize he’s crying until he hears himself sob.

“Fuck,  _ fuck, _ where the fuck is everyone?! Fuck!”

Wash’s struggling starts to quiet, making Tucker’s heart stop.

“Wash? Wash, no no no no,” Tucker falls into a sitting position, pulling Wash into his lap. “Don’t you die on me, dude! Hey,  _ hey!  _ Did you fucking hear me?! _ ” _

Wash’s hand starts to lose its grip on Tucker’s but Tucker just holds on tighter.

“Don’t leave me, dude,” he pleads but his body is getting heavier in Tucker’s arms. “Wash?” His hand finally lets go of Tucker’s and Tucker is just cradling Wash’s limp hand in his own, holding it against his chest plate. His bottom lip quivers and he bites it, tears dripping down his cheeks. “Please don’t be gone, Wash. I had so much shit to say to you still. I had--”

  
  


\-- _ “Tucker!” _

He jumps awake, a strong hand on his arm.

Tucker doesn’t know where the fuck he is for a second before he can make out Wash’s concerned eyes in the dark thanks to a little bit of light from the moon coming in through the window. He then remembers he’s in their room, in the city base, on Chorus. 

“What happened?” he asks, wide awake even though he was just asleep a second ago.

“You were screaming,” Wash tells him, his hand still on his arm. “You were having a nightmare.”

The dream comes back to him almost vividly. He swears he has all of his armor on and blood soaking his gloves and Wash’s dead body in his lap but none of that is true. He’s shirtless, his hands aren’t covered in blood (maybe just a little clammy), and Wash isn’t dead in his lap. Wash is standing over him, looking down at him worriedly and sadly.

“Oh,” is all Tucker awkwardly says.

Wash moves his hand from his arm and gives him some space. Tucker sits up, putting his feet on the ground and thank god he decided to keep his briefs on for the night because that probably would’ve made things more awkward at the moment.

Quietly, Wash grabs him a cup of water and holds it out to him. Tucker takes it and avoids his eyes while downing it.

It gets uncomfortably quiet fast but Tucker doesn’t know what the fuck to say for once. He hasn’t had a nightmare in front of Wash before. He has  _ no  _ idea what he said or yelled. And, honestly, he’s kind of embarrassed. Is this how Wash always feels? It’s a shitty feeling.

“Do--” Wash starts to say but gets interrupted by a knock at the door. He instead moves to open it, letting some of the hallway light into the room. Caboose stands there in a blue onesie, hair messy and eyes full of sleepiness.

“Hi, Agent Washington,” Caboose says quietly. “Is everything okay? Did you have a bad dream?”

“I--” Wash stutters and glances over his shoulder at Tucker. “Um, well--”

“It was me, Caboose,” Tucker answers for him.

“Oh,” Caboose says, looking over at Tucker, who is still sitting on his bed. “Do you need some mustard in your sheets, Tucker?”

“No,” Tucker responds flatly. “I’m okay. Sorry for waking you up, Caboose.”

“That’s okay! Do you want a hug instead?”

“No.”

“Okay! Agent Washington, do you want a hug?”

“I’m…” He pauses. “Sure, Caboose.”

Tucker watches as Caboose wraps his arms around Wash and squeezes him. Wash pats his back and then Caboose lets go, smiling.

“Goodnight guys! I hope you don’t have any more nightmares!”

“Thank you, Caboose. Goodnight,” Wash says and closes the door behind him as the big blue kid leaves. He turns back to Tucker and it’s dark again, which somehow makes the silence even heavier between them.

“What did I say--”

“Do you want to talk about it--”

They both start talking at the same time and Wash stands a few feet away from him, biting his lip. 

“Sorry, you first,” he offers.

“I just wanted to know what I was saying or uh, yelling in my sleep,” Tucker says awkwardly, looking at the ground.

“You were yelling my name and yelling for help and stuff,” Wash responds. He stands quietly in the dark. “Did you… dream about me getting shot?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fucking fault, dude.”

Tucker can almost  _ hear  _ Wash having a mental battle with himself before he finally decides on walking over and sitting beside Tucker on his bed.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Wash asks again.

“Does it help?” Tucker asks weakly, looking at him. His eyes have mostly adjusted to the dark now and he can see Wash a little clearer, now that he’s closer, as well.

Wash nods, meeting his eyes in the dark, and says gently, “Yeah, it does.”

Tucker nods back but has to look down, breaking eye contact with him as he recalls the dream.

“Well, you got shot, like usual,” he starts slowly, rubbing his palms anxiously over his knees. “And it kind of went down the way it actually went down. But then everyone was gone and it was just us and you were dying in my arms. And I couldn’t save you, and god, you were making this fucking horrible sound and bleeding everywhere and--- fuck, it was just so _bad,_ _so_ much worse than what really happened. You looked so scared. I just wanted to save you and reassure you that you were okay but you weren’t. And you-- you just died in front of me. In my hands. I watched you die.”

He clenches his jaw to keep himself from crying but his eyes are full of tears as the image and feeling of Wash dying in his arms returns. He feels it heavy in his chest, this indescribable, sickening pressure.

“Do you have nightmares about it often?” Wash asks quietly after a few beats. 

“Yeah,” Tucker responds honestly, still looking down. “I don’t have nightmares about a lot of stuff, mainly just about Junior and Church sometimes.  _ Maybe  _ occasionally about Caboose, too, but don’t tell him that. And then there’s you and this fucking bullshit.” He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Watching you get shot twice clearly fucked with my head.”

“I know. But I’m alive and I’m here. I’m okay.”

“That’s not the point, dude,” Tucker says, probably a little too aggressively, and turns to look at him again. “If you had died like that in my fucking arms I don’t know if I’d be here right now.”

Wash looks taken aback, even in the dark as he blinks confusedly and a deep frown sets on his lips. “Don’t say that, Tucker. Of course you’d be here.”

“I really don't know if I would be. I don’t know if I could’ve gone on knowing I didn’t save you.”

“But you  _ did,”  _ Wash insists. His hand suddenly finds Tucker’s in the dark, grabbing onto it and holding tightly. Both of their hands are a little clammy and Wash’s is cold, like usual. The action surprises Tucker but he can’t find it in his heart to do anything about it in a moment like this. It’s the last thing on his mind right now, really. “You  _ did  _ save me, Tucker. I didn’t die.”

“But you’re still different,” Tucker almost whispers.

“We’ve been over this already,” Wash whispers back, squeezing his hand. He sounds tired and like he doesn’t want to fight about it so Tucker doesn’t push on the topic. He knows Wash’s injury isn’t his fault but at least he’s here and he  _ is _ okay.

They sit like that for a while, just quietly, with Wash holding his hand in his own lap. Tucker doesn’t want to scare him off so he doesn’t move, he practically doesn’t even breathe, and he just really doesn’t want the moment to end or for Wash to leave him.

Wash does, however, eventually let go of Tucker’s hand and starts to get up while saying, “You should try to get back to sleep.”

Tucker reaches out, grabbing his hand again, making Wash unable to get far when he stands up.

“Wash,” Tucker says quietly into the dark, holding onto Wash’s hand, making him turn back, confused. “Can you stay with me?”

He doesn’t know if Wash understands what he means, but he thinks he does based on how long Wash pauses and doesn’t move or answer. He pauses for what seems like an eternity and Tucker’s almost certain he’s trying to think of a nice way to say no.

Eventually, Wash just nods without saying anything and Tucker’s heart skips a beat. He let’s go of Wash’s hand so that he can lay back down in his bed, laying on his side to make sure there’s enough room for Wash to lay beside him. He watches as Wash slowly and carefully gets under his covers,  _ Tucker’s  _ covers, and lays on his back. 

They don’t say anything as Wash folds his hands on his stomach. Tucker sees his fingers nervously rubbing the material of his blanket.

He takes in how close they are. He can see Wash blinking at the ceiling and biting his bottom lip. He watches the rise and fall of his chest, indicating he’s alive and breathing. He’s  _ alive  _ and right next to him. 

After a few minutes Wash surprisingly rolls over and faces Tucker on his side, his arm under his head for support. Wash’s other hand grasps tightly onto Tucker’s blanket, holding it close to his chest. Their eyes meet in the dark and they’re both obviously wide awake.

Tucker doesn’t want to think about a world without Wash in it. He doesn’t want to think of a world where he never tells Wash how he feels like in his nightmare. He doesn’t want Wash to not know. Wash  _ has  _ to know so Tucker is going to tell him. Wash deserves to know and Tucker deserves to tell him, just like Carolina said.

For now, though, he’s going to just enjoy the moment. He’s going to enjoy Wash being alive beside him in his own bed in their own room. 

For now, Tucker says, “I don’t ever wanna lose you, Wash.”

Wash stares at him and doesn’t move, but he says back softly, “I don’t ever want to lose you too, Tucker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Saturday everyone! Sorry this chapter was a week late. I started working almost 2 weeks ago so I've been super busy trying to find time to write. I pumped out a large chunk of this chapter during my lunch break yesterday asdfghjkl. Anyways, there is only a few chapters left so thank you for bearing with me through this journey! I am super excited for the next chapter!!!!  
> Thank you for all the love!  
> Catch me on Tumblr at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae). Have a fantastic week!


	10. Chapter 10

After Wash sleeps in Tucker’s bed that night, everything changes again.

Wash had fallen asleep looking at Tucker. And it was… honestly, perfect. Wash was as stiff as a board, sure, and yeah, his heart was beating so loud that Tucker might’ve even been able to hear it, but he fell asleep quickly and at peace with his choice to stay. He wasn’t worried or thinking about what was going to happen next. He just looked at his friend that he liked, really,  _ really  _ fucking liked and let himself feel it. And it was perfect and he wanted it forever.

The next morning, Wash wakes up on his side, facing his own bed, unlike when he fell asleep facing Tucker. There’s no confusion and he knows exactly where he is right away. Last night is clear and fresh in his mind and for that he’s grateful.

However, there is an arm loosely thrown over his side and Wash glances oh so carefully to see it’s Tucker’s. Obviously.

He tries not to panic,  _ tries not to panic because Tucker is spooning him. _

Tucker’s not pressed against him fully, but his knees are curled and fit perfectly behind Wash’s own bent knees.

He breathes in deeply through his nose to try and calm down but one of Tucker’s pillows is under his head and it doesn’t help that it smells like him. It smells like pine, and even some sort of spice that Wash knows is from a cologne bottle that Tucker  _ somehow  _ got a hold of during the Chorus war. Wash would know because he’d suffocate any time Tucker sprayed it near him, but right now it’s  _ really  _ fucking nice.

Wash doesn’t know if he should stay frozen or move. He opts for frozen because his mind is still reeling in what’s going on.

“Good morning.”

Wash jumps. He wasn’t expecting Tucker to already be awake. Was he awake the entire time?

“Good morning,” Wash replies weakly and still doesn’t move, staring sideways at his own bed.

Tucker shuffles behind him, his arm sliding off Wash’s stomach and side as he rolls onto his back and stretches.

“Y’know, you’re the perfect size for cuddling,” Tucker says thoughtfully, his voice full of sleep. He sounds so much calmer than usual and his voice is a little deeper. Wash can’t help but think about how much he likes Tucker’s morning voice. “Some people are too small and there’s like, not enough for me to cuddle. But you’re perfect for spooning because, I will admit, you’ve got a  _ few  _ inches over me and a  _ bit  _ more muscle mass, so there’s more to hold.”

Wash sits up and brings part of Tucker’s sheet with him. He desperately ignores his morning wood and fuck; Tucker  _ definitely  _ has morning wood too. How has he not made a joke yet?

He blushes at the thought  _ and  _ at Tucker’s compliment, but he covers it up by sassily asking, “A  _ few  _ inches? A  _ bit  _ more muscle mass?”

“Dude, don’t push it.” Tucker lays on his side again but holds his head up with his hand. Wash doesn’t look at his abs or his chest or his arms. He stares straight into his brown eyes. “You may have the height and the bod, but I  _ definitely  _ beat you in the seduction and hair areas.”

Wash immediately runs a hand through his hair, probably fucking up his mess of a bedhead even more. “I’ll give it to you, I  _ do  _ need a haircut.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“All opinions are invalid if you’re under six feet,” Wash teases.

“Hey! I pretty much classify as six feet.”

“Mm, I don’t know, 5’10 doesn’t sound like six feet to me.” Wash smirks down at him, still sitting up.

“Fuck you, dude.”

“Hey, you brought it up.” Wash chuckles. He pauses and then nervously fiddles with Tucker’s sheet while he asks, “So… Did you sleep okay after your nightmare?” He’s actually asking  _ did you sleep okay with me? _

Everything about the mood between them changes. It goes from light and teasing to suddenly serious. Wash wonders if he asked the wrong question until Tucker gives him the softest smile in the fucking world, making his heart flutter, and he answers gently, “Yeah. Fucking great, actually. You?”

“Yeah, yeah, same…”

Tucker keeps smiling at him and he says, “I should’ve known you were the little spoon. You’re literally just a big baby.”

“Wh—am  _ not,”  _ Wash responds,  _ totally  _ maturely.

“Whatever you say, Wash.” Tucker’s grin doesn’t leave his face but it’s not a teasing smirk or anything. Just a genuine smile. Wash physically can’t keep himself from taking in how he looks. He’s seen Tucker fresh out of slumber before, but this is so much more different and intimate. His dreads are loosely over his shoulders and he has no shirt on, which is not helping that morning wood Wash still has, and his brown eyes are still full of sleepiness and  _ Jesus fuck. _ The man is so fucking adorable and sexy at the same time that it’s not fair.

“Yeah, whatever,” Wash finally finds his voice, looking away.

Tucker moves again and this time he gets out of bed, stretching again. Wash watches him pull some pants and a tank top on, still dumbly sitting up in Tucker’s bed, unsure of what to do. He’s honestly a little unsure of how to act after sharing a bed with Tucker and getting spooned by him. He still can’t figure out what to say and just looks up, meeting Tucker’s eyes, who has finished getting dressed and is looking down at Wash.

“Wanna go have breakfast?” Tucker offers simply.

Wash nods and stands up quietly, still in relaxed clothing for bed, and just follows Tucker who whistles while leaving their room.

“Hey, you should  _ totally  _ make me an omelette after I gave you the best spooning of your life last night,” Tucker is saying as he heads down the hall. “I’d like green onion, peppers, cheese—are you writing this down? Write this shit down, ‘cause there’s gonna be a  _ lot _ —”

Tucker keeps talking about omelettes and Wash can’t help but smile to himself. Breakfast. Normalcy.

He can do that.

Everything changes after that, but in a good way.

The next few days go by normally. A lot more normal than before, actually. Tucker stops flirting so hardcore with Wash and Wash isn’t sure if that’s good or bad. It’s good because Wash isn’t just a stupid mess in front of Tucker anymore. He can form sentences properly again and they go back to their reciprocated teasing friendship that Wash loves. But it’s bad, too, because Wash can’t help but think that something about them sleeping together turned Tucker off from him. Which is  _ also _ good because Wash didn’t want to get into anything, anyways. So, why can’t he help but miss Tucker’s innuendos and wonder why he’s not making them anymore?

Wash can’t ignore the fact that he also notices Tucker sometimes gazing at him and chewing on his lip like he wants to say something every now and then. But any time Wash says something to him or catches his eyes Tucker just grins at him and answers and doesn’t bring anything else up. It’s a little off putting, but what’s he going to do about it? If Tucker wanted to really say something he would say it. That’s just how the man works.

Besides that, everything else is great. They seem even closer, if possible. Although Wash doesn’t sleep in Tucker’s bed again, they do stay up late talking every night and spend a lot of their time together. The only time they’re not together Wash hangs out with Carolina or Caboose. Carolina doesn’t ask him about Tucker specifically, but she does give him a side eye and asks how he’s doing, which Wash honestly responds with  _ good. _

Wash recounts all of this during his first meeting with Dr. Grey since having left the hospital. He didn’t really plan on it but she digs it out of him and once he starts talking and telling her everything from the beginning, he can’t stop.

She nods and listens intently while Wash shares everything. All of his love troubles and confusion. Every emotion he’s felt: anger, sadness and everything else in between. His nightmare of killing Caboose and Tucker. His fight with Carolina. He shares  _ everything. _

When he stops talking he kind of just looks at her expectantly. 

Dr. Grey smiles and says, “You’ve had quite the busy past couple of weeks.”

“Yeah. Busy,” he echoes her. “So, um, what do you think? About my injury and stuff?”

She puts her clipboard down where she had been taking notes. “Wash, you’re still suffering from cerebral hypoxia. There’s no doubt in my mind that your mental state of being was a large part that was greatly affected. And I don’t mean just memory wise, but mental health wise. You’ve told me that you have extreme mood swings and that your lows are  _ low  _ and your highs are  _ high. _ It also sounds like your anxiety has been rather high lately.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it, looking for something to say. “Well, the anxiety isn’t new. I was anxious in Freelancer, during Recovery One, hunting down Epsilon, then the Director, then Chorus, then Temple, then time--” He stops since she doesn’t know that part. “...Point being, there’s always been stuff for me to be anxious about. It’s not new.”

“Wash, there’s a big difference between being on edge and having anxiety. Not to say that you didn’t have moments of anxiety during all of these times of the past, I’m sure you did. But I think it’s also safe to say that during those times, you weren’t constantly worrying?”

“I mean…” He starts to play with his gloves. He’s sitting in full armor, besides his helmet, on a chair in Dr. Grey’s office at the hospital. “There were things to worry about all the time, but yeah, I guess I wasn’t  _ always  _ worried. There were moments…” Wash suddenly remembers dyeing Carolina’s hair with York on the Mother of Invention, and Doc openly talking to him in the desert at some late hours of the night even though he was his and the Meta’s hostage, and playing capture the flag with Tucker and Caboose against the Reds at Valhalla, and reuniting with Tucker after they were separated during the Chorus war. “...Yeah, there were moments where I wasn’t worried.”

“You see, I think that right now you’re hyper fixated on your relationship with Tucker,” Dr. Grey says, looking at him over her glasses. “And that is causing you a lot of anxiety.”

“But I-- I have to be careful.”

“You can be careful without causing this amount of anxiety to yourself. I know that it’s most likely harder and different now because your brain has literally  _ changed  _ from your injury, but it’s important to be mindful of your own mental health.”

He pauses and looks down at his gloves. “How can I do that?”

“Try to be in the present,” she explains. “Don’t worry about the outcome of things. You cross that bridge when you get there, not several miles away.”

Wash nods quietly, taking in her advice. He doesn’t know if he’ll apply it, but it’s something to think about.

“And my mood swings? These extreme emotions?” he asks eventually when it’s too quiet between them.

She breathes deeply,  _ almost  _ a sigh, making him look back up at her. “They  _ are  _ because of your injury. I can’t say if it’ll be permanent but it’s very possible it is. It may be something you have to live with.  _ But,  _ I do want to say that you are doing an excellent job of acknowledging it and working on it so hard. The only way to live with it is to work through it and again,  _ always  _ be mindful of what you’re feeling. That’s not to say that you should ignore your emotions but to step back and breathe. I assume you know how to breathe through things like panic attacks?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.”

“Great. If any time you feel out of control, you can do the same thing. Take a step back, close your eyes, count in your head or even out loud. You might look a little crazy, but who doesn’t every once in a while?” She smiles at him and he returns a small grin to her. “I want you to come back in two weeks and update me on anything and everything, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Oh, one last thing,” Dr. Grey says from her chair that’s across from his, a few feet away. “I’m clearing you for training.”

Wash feels his eyes widen and he stares at her. He wasn’t expecting that. “What?”

“Everything you’ve come to me with are all problems that require deeper psychological therapy sessions, not physical therapy ones. You haven’t mentioned any physical problems, so I’m clearing you. You  _ are  _ okay physically, correct?”

“Yes, yes, I am, no problems at all,” he spews out.

She smiles. “Perfect! You can resume a regular training and working out routine. Just please do  _ not  _ push yourself past a point you can’t make. If you figure that  _ anything  _ is wrong with things like your perception, coordination, or any of that you  _ tell  _ me and we will set up physical therapy sessions. Do you understand me?” she asks sternly.

“Yes,” he responds, grasping his helmet tightly in his lap.

“All righty then, it’s settled,” she says, standing up and holding out her hand. He stands up quickly. He’s a few feet taller than her in armor and naturally. He shakes her hand. “You take care, Wash. I’ll see you in two weeks  _ or  _ sooner if there’s any problems.” She gives him a look.

“Of course. Thank you so much, Dr. Grey.”

He moves to the door excitedly.

“Wash?” Dr. Grey calls when he’s about to open the door. He looks back at her. “I just want you to know that you’re doing really great.”

She smiles at him and he grins back, a real one, and opens the door.

Tucker had  _ insisted  _ on walking with him to the hospital for his appointment, and Wash didn’t say no because honestly, he was still paranoid to walk the streets of the city alone. 

Tucker said he’d wait in the hall during Wash’s appointment with Dr. Grey, so as Wash steps out of her office and closes the door behind him he says, “Tucker, I--”

He stops when he sees Tucker talking to Locus a few feet away. They both have their helmets off and stop talking once Wash comes out.

“Oh. Hi,” Wash says to Locus a little awkwardly.

“Hello,” Locus replies smoothly.

Wash glances at Tucker who glances at Wash too and just shrugs, giving him a  _ don’t look at me  _ look. 

“What have you been up to?” Wash opts to ask as he approaches the two armored men, carrying his helmet under his arm. “Where have you been?”

“Well… I think it’d be a little complicated to live at the base in the city with the people I was trying to kill last year, so I’ve been moving around here and there, different planets, seeing what’s going on and who needs help,” Locus explains, sounding a little awkward himself. 

“Wash, this guy has an entire redemption arc,” Tucker cuts in. “It’s fucking nuts!”

“I see,” Wash says, still looking at Locus. “So, what brought you back to Chorus?”

“I was just around,” Locus says vaguely. “Decided to see how you were doing, what with being shot in the throat, and all.” His tone has some sarcasm and sass to it.

Wash is shocked to hear this. He can’t help but look at Tucker again, who just nods to him like  _ right?  _ It’s one thing for Locus to help out Grif for some reason, and another to save him and Carolina. But it’s an  _ entirely  _ different thing for  _ Locus  _ to go out of his way to check on Wash.

“Oh,” Wash pauses for a long time. “Thanks. I’m good.”

“Good,” Locus says and there’s a really, really long uncomfortable silence. Wash can see Tucker grimacing before Locus says, “Well, I’m going to head out now--”

“Locus,” Wash interrupts. “Thanks for going with Grif to save us. Thanks for saving Carolina and I.”

Locus is quiet, like he always is,  _ always  _ pausing and speaking silently. His expression doesn’t change. It’s just neutral and there’s no sign of emotion on his face. Then, he simply says, “Well, Grif wouldn’t stop crying about all of you, especially the maroon one, so I had no choice.” 

He leaves with that, turning and walking down the hall while putting his helmet back on. He shimmers and disappears. 

Wash watches him go and then looks at Tucker, still surprised and now confused by the interaction.

Tucker just shrugs. “Dude’s kinda chill. I see why Grif likes him. Anyways, how’d it go in there?”

Wash remembers his clearing to work out and he smiles again. “I was cleared to start working out and training again.”

“What?! Wash, that’s fucking awesome!” 

“Yeah. Yeah, it is pretty fucking awesome.” Wash continues to smile as Tucker beams at him. 

“I’m so happy for you, dude! This is good, right? You’re good? Dr. Grey thinks so?”

“Well, up here is a little…” Wash motions to his head and shrugs. “Obviously. But I haven’t had any physical problems so she said I can start.”

“That’s great, Wash,” Tucker says and seems like he’s suddenly closer, grinning up at Wash with a soft smile. 

Wash grins back at him, appreciating how Tucker is looking at him and talking to him and just so fucking happy  _ for  _ him. “What do you say we go spar together?” he suggests.

Tucker nods eagerly. “Fuck yes, dude. I’ve gotta say I’ve missed you knocking me on my ass.” He grabs Wash by the arm and starts dragging him down the hall.

Wash chuckles and says, “Yeah, me too.”

  
  


They get back to base and quickly remove their armor. Tucker strips down in front of him, putting on gym shorts and a tank top. Wash hesitates before also changing while Tucker’s busy tying his dreads back. They head to the gym together. Wash chats excitedly about how he’s missed everything about working out and training, including his workout clothes and socks. Tucker rolls his eyes and calls him a weirdo but Wash just grins because he actually just missed the normalcy of everything he’s feeling.

It’s dinner time by the time they get to the gym and so it’s empty when they get there. Two women walk past them and politely smile, which Wash returns but Tucker doesn’t, surprisingly. He just heads over to the mats and kicks off his shoes.

Wash walks over too and starts stretching his arms out. It’s been a while and he really doesn’t want to do something stupid like pull a muscle. 

“I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been working out a shit ton at this place. My newfound strength might throw you off,” Tucker says confidently. “So, just look out for that.”

“Right, I’ll be sure to watch out for it,” Wash responds teasingly, earning a smirk from Tucker.

They both stretch a little more for a few minutes and make small talk about the gym.

“Okay, ready old man?” Tucker asks, rolling his shoulders back.

“You’re going to regret calling me that,” Wash says and raises his hands. Tucker chuckles and does the same. 

Wash’s heart pounds a little, but in a good way.

There’s a pause in the air as they circle around each other slowly. Wash watches Tucker carefully, trying to read him for a sign of attack. There’s none so Wash ends up throwing the first punch, which Tucker avoids and throws one back. Wash blocks it almost too easily with his right arm. 

“Nice,” Tucker comments when they start to circle each other again. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” Wash says to him, his hands raised up again. 

Tucker hesitates then nods. This tells Wash that he had already been going easy on him and that’s the  _ last  _ thing Wash wants. He just wants to test his body out and see what he can still do. He wants to know. He just wants to get back into things if he really is physically okay.

Wash watches Tucker as they continue to move around each other. Wash is certain Tucker isn’t going to attack first, again, so he starts to prepare to attack instead when suddenly Tucker’s fist connects with his jaw while Wash’s defense is down.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, dude, I’m sorry! Are you okay?!”

Wash isn’t new to punches in the face. He’s trained hundreds of soldiers between the Feds and the Rebels, and he’s used to elbows and fists in his face because of Freelancer training. What stuns him isn’t the hit but the fact that Wash just literally misread the attack and Tucker’s body language, something that he rarely does in training or in a battle. 

Tucker keeps pestering him, getting close and trying to see his jaw.

“Tucker, I’m okay.” Wash gently shoves him back, raising his fists once again. “Let’s keep going.”

“Dude, I just fucking hit you.”

_ “Tucker.” _

Something about Wash’s tone must change his mind because Tucker gives him a look that Wash can’t read and he brings his fists up again, a little hesitantly.

Wash attacks first again, this time a lot quicker than the first time. Tucker, though, is ready for it and blocks all of his hits and kicks. They fall into a pretty equal rhythm, like a dance. Wash is impressed with the dark man. He remembers when they were reunited during the Chorus war and the first time he sparred with Tucker since they had separated. Tucker had improved infinitely in the time they spent apart. Wash was so proud of him and touched that Tucker had obviously worked so hard to save him and the others--

Wash hits the mat on his back, hard, knocking the breath out of him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry again!” Tucker cries out, already bending down to help him up.

He replays the fight in his head. Tucker and Wash had been busy fighting with their hands and Wash had been so focused on punches and remembering Chorus that he’d completely forgotten to guard himself from kicks. Tucker had shoved Wash back and brought his foot to his chest, sending him flying onto his back.

How did he just forget about legs? Legs are just as important in battles as fists are.  _ Come on, Wash. What the hell’s wrong with you? That’s basic training. _

“Wash?” 

He looks back at Tucker, focusing on his face. Tucker’s got his hands on his arms and Wash is holding back onto him. He immediately lets go.

“Dude.” Tucker frowns, looking worried and Wash absolutely fucking hates the look he’s giving him.

“Stop it. I said I’m fine.”

“I’ve never taken you down more than once.” Tucker doesn’t let up. “Maybe we should--”

“If I go down I’ll get back up,” Wash cuts him off. “Let’s go again.”

Wash hardens his expression at Tucker. The other soldier looks hurt and backs up, getting ready to fight once again. Wash just wants to spar, what’s the goddamn problem? He’s just rusty. It’s been a few weeks, he needs to warm up.

They go at it again but Wash is distracted now. He’s annoyed and frustrated but that isn’t what’s keeping him from his full fighting capability. The fact is he can’t reach his full capability anymore. Not now, at least. As they keep going and he keeps getting hit and knocked down, he notices that everything  _ is fucking different.  _ He can’t read Tucker’s position as defensive or offensive like he would be able to in a second just by glancing at someone. He doesn’t know when Tucker’s going to attack. He can’t read his body language or even his steps or movements. Even when a fist is coming at his face he can barely register it until the last second. 

At some point Tucker weakly protests with way too much sympathy, “C’mon, let’s just try again tomorrow.”

“No.”

Wash ignores the way Tucker falters and frowns but keeps sparring with him. He starts getting more and more sloppy as time goes on. The more he tries the more frustrated and emotional he gets. It gets to the point where there’s tears starting to well in his eyes because he’s just so fucking _stupid_ and angry. How the _fuck_ could he let this happen to himself? He can’t even fucking fight. He’s determined to just make some sort of fucking progress even though he’s going so, _so_ backwards as they continue sparring.

A few tears slip out of his eyes which makes him even angrier and upset at himself because now he’s a fucking guy who cries while working out.

Tucker stops dead in his tracks. “Wash.”

“I said  _ I’m fine!” _ Wash yells at him. It echoes throughout the empty gym.

Tucker stares at him, at the fucking pathetic tears trailing down his face. Wash is too heated to even give a fuck or wipe them away. He instead shoves Tucker with his hands. “Come on.  _ Come on!  _ I’m not fucking done!”

“Wash,” Tucker repeats softly. He just looks so hurt and Wash hates himself. “Please stop.”

“Why can’t you just fucking do this for me?!” Wash shouts at him angrily. 

Tucker doesn’t cower back or anything. He just continues looking at him with a deep frown. He starts to reach out for Wash but Wash storms off before they touch. He has to just get away and go somewhere private,  _ alone, _ so he slams the gym change room door open and lets it close behind him. 

He paces for a few moments, clenching his fists tightly, trying to breathe, but it doesn’t work. He turns and punches the wall without thinking. His fist goes right through the drywall and he pulls it out slowly, breathing heavily while trying not to let more tears spill out of his eyes. 

His hand shakes and his knuckles are already starting to bleed a little. He doesn’t feel it, though. Everything just feels numb.

The door suddenly opens and Tucker walks in. He stops when his eyes land on Wash and his hand.

Wash doesn’t even know what to say or do at this point. He’s made a fucking fool out of himself but he feels himself breaking and he doesn’t care anymore. He just looks at Tucker with his jaw clenched and tears blurring his vision, his bleeding hand held in the other.

Tucker doesn’t say anything. He just moves forward and wraps his arms around Wash, pulling him close. Wash lets him and immediately hugs him back, putting his face into the crook of his neck and shoulder. He can’t stop the tears and sobs that start to rack his body. He lets himself cry for the first time in forever. Once he starts, he feels like he can’t stop. Tucker holds him tighter and Wash can hear him breathing shakily.

“I’m sorry,” Wash manages out. He doesn’t even know if Tucker can hear him properly with him crying and mumbling into Tucker’s shirt and neck. “I’m so sorry, Tucker. I’m so stupid and broken. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Tucker doesn’t answer but runs one of his hands soothingly through his hair, still holding him tightly. They stand like that for a few minutes until Wash feels like he might be okay to pull away and reconcile all of this, even though all he wants to do is stand there forever.

They pull apart but don’t get far since Tucker holds him in place by the shoulders. 

“Hey,” Tucker says, looking up at Wash. Wash feels so dumb and like he’s a child again. He wipes his eyes and his nose with the back of his hand but he’s sure he still looks like a mess. “You’re  _ not  _ stupid. Wash, you’re one of the smartest fucking people I know, if not the smartest. And you’re not broken either, you idiot. You’re just  _ human.  _ You went through a traumatic ass experience that fucked up your brain. You’re not supposed to just bounce back from that in under a month. And fuck, dude,  _ no one  _ knows what they’re supposed to do around here! You think I have all my shit figured out?!  _ Fuck  _ no! The only thing I do know is that I’m going to be right here with you every step of your path to recovery. I’m going to help you and hold your fucking hand the whole time if I have to because I want to and I want to see you happy and able to kick my ass again because I really don’t like when it’s the other way around! And if you  _ don’t  _ recover then we’ll fucking deal with that together too!”

Wash stares at him, trying to take everything in that Tucker just said. He feels so many things at once but mostly he just feels safe and all he can think about is what Dr. Grey told him earlier.  _ Be in the present. Don’t worry about the outcome of things.  _

So, he leans in and closes the gap between them, pressing his lips against Tucker’s for the first time; something he’s been wanting to do for a long time now but he just didn’t realize until as of late.

Tucker’s incredibly warm. Everything about him is warm. His lips, the energy radiating off of him, his hands that are sliding down from Wash’s shoulders to his arms.

But he doesn’t kiss back, making Wash pull away. He opens his eyes to look at Tucker, still just a few inches away. Tucker looks up at him but glances at his lips. It’s quiet for a few seconds.

“You’re way too vulnerable for this right now, Wash,” Tucker finally says quietly.

Wash feels his face heat up upon what he just did. He takes a step back, stuttering out, “I’m  _ so  _ sorry, Tucker, I don’t--”

“It’s okay, dude.” Tucker gives him a really soft, genuine smile. “Let’s go bandage up your hand.”

Tucker leaves the change room first and Wash takes a few deep breaths, looking down at his hand and then the broken wall before he follows after him.

  
  


Tucker paces outside of his and Wash’s room. Wash is currently in there with Carolina, who is helping him with his hand. Tucker told them he was going to go get ice maybe 20 minutes ago and still hasn’t gone back in. The ice is in a bag in his hands but it’s melted completely.

He doesn’t know how to go about this. Wash kissed him.  _ Wash  _ kissed  _ him.  _ Not the other way around. Not with the help of Tucker seducing him. Just completely on his own. That means Wash  _ has  _ to have some sort of feelings for him.

Or maybe he doesn’t? Maybe Wash just felt vulnerable and alone and would’ve kissed anyone else that would’ve been with him in that situation? Like if he was with Carolina or Donut.

No, that doesn’t make sense. Carolina’s basically taken and Donut is  _ Donut  _ and most likely with Doc. Wash wouldn’t make a move on a taken person. But he also wouldn’t kiss Sarge or Caboose or something.

The door opens and Carolina steps out, closing the door behind her. She looks at the bag of melted ice in his hands and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Shit. Sorry. I’ll go get more,” Tucker says and starts to leave.

Carolina gently grabs his arm to stop him. “Tucker. Just go in there already.”

He pauses and looks up at her, now wondering how much she knows from both sides. “Did he tell you?”

“Yes.”

“Is it really the right time to tell him, though?” Tucker asks nervously. “He’s a mess right now.”

“He’s doing better now,” she informs him. “Besides, I think you telling him will take a lot of pressure off of the both of you.”

Tucker nods and clenches his jaw. He breathes in deeply through his nose and out through his mouth to calm his nerves. 

Fuck it. No more of this bullshit. He’s going to tell Wash how he feels.

Carolina grins as he opens the door and steps inside, shutting it gently behind him. He turns to look at Wash who is sitting on his bed with his hand wrapped up. His cheeks are still red from crying, or maybe he’s fucking blushing already, or both. He looks guilty and embarrassed but he doesn’t say anything.

“Hey,” Tucker starts lamely, suddenly losing all confidence now that he’s looking at Wash. He awkwardly holds up the bag of water. “Brought you ice but it… melted.”

“Thanks,” Wash says quietly. The blonde looks like he wants to run away but he’s seated firmly on his bed, telling Tucker that yep, they’re about to have this conversation.

Tucker plays with the bag a little, the water sloshing back and forth. “Can we talk, dude?” 

Wash looks like he knows it’s about the kiss because he turns a little redder and looks down. He softly answers, “Yeah.”

Walking over to his bed, Tucker tosses the bag onto his own nightstand and then slowly sits next to Wash. There’s a heavy silence that fills the room as Tucker tries to figure out what to say. How does he say he wants to bone him long term without sounding like a douche and making it semi-romantic?

Wash starts talking first, looking at his bandaged hand while he speaks. “Tucker, I’m  _ so  _ sorry. I shouldn’t have forced you to spar with me and I kept pushing you when I shouldn’t have. And I should’ve  _ never  _ shoved you or yelled at you. And I’m sorry I kissed you. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll move out--”

“Shut up, dude,” Tucker interrupts and Wash does stop talking. He never looks at Tucker, his shoulders hunched forward with disappointment and shame. “I don’t care about any of that, okay?”

“Yeah, but I--”

“Wash, I don’t know how else to say this, but I wanna fuck you.”

Wash freezes next to him and he finally looks up, locking eyes with Tucker’s. Wash’s poor eyes are wide and red and Tucker literally  _ never  _ wants to see him so hurt and upset ever again. But, he does appreciate that Wash looks surprised now instead of hurt.

“Y-you do?” Wash all but sputters out and Tucker wants to smile at how cute he is and tease him but he doesn’t. He’s going to make this as clear and serious as he can.

“Yeah,” Tucker responds, still looking into his grey eyes that look a little blue from the light coming in through the window. “Not gonna lie, but yeah, I do, pretty badly. I’ve always thought you were fucking hot ‘cause y’know, I have  _ eyes,  _ but I didn’t realize that I wanted to actually fuck you until like a week ago. And I don’t know if this is a shot in the dark here, but  _ you  _ kissed  _ me,  _ so-- if you feel like, the same, or anything, then I’m completely down to do literally anything with you.”

Wash doesn’t say anything. They just stare at each other, Wash blinking, his eyes still wide and his cheeks red. Tucker feels pretty bad that Wash is  _ this  _ surprised at someone wanting to bone him. How does he not know how god damn attractive he is?

“You gonna say anything?” Tucker prompts after probably a minute of silence.

“Yes, yes, sorry… uh… Tucker, I am attracted to you,” Wash admits very slowly.

Tucker suddenly feels like how Wash probably feels because he can’t believe his fucking ears. He feels himself visibly light up.

“Really? ‘Cause I was  _ so  _ confused by you always running away from me when I was hitting on you but you were still rooming with me and then you kissed me. Just a lot of mixed messages, dude.”

“Yeah, I’m… sorry about that.” Wash rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “My mind has kind of been all over the place about you recently and… look, Tucker, I do like you. A lot, actually, but… that’s why I can’t do anything with you. I’m not just a one-night stand or friends with benefits kind of person. I like you  _ way  _ too much and it’d just… it’d be bad for me,” he admits, looking embarrassed and sad again.

“Dude, what? Hold up.” Tucker raises a hand to him, frowning. “I don’t think I was clear enough. I want to bone you  _ long  _ term.”

“I--” Wash looks at him, still closed in on himself. He licks his lips and Tucker can’t help but watch as he does. “Can you elaborate?” he asks quietly.

Tucker slides closer to him. “I don’t just want to fuck you. I want to do that but I… I still wanna be friends, you know? Like best friends. Like hang out and spar together and cuddle  _ and  _ fuck.”

Wash blinks at him. “So you… you want to like… date?”

“Yeah, dude. As far as dating goes in our fucked up lives,” Tucker says. 

They’re a lot closer now and Tucker just wants to fucking kiss him  _ so bad  _ but they need to have this talk. The forsaken god damn talk. Tucker  _ hates  _ the talk, but it’s going pretty well so far and it’s  _ Wash.  _ They  _ have  _ to talk about all of this.

“Really? Are you-- really?”

“Yes, Wash.”

Wash stares at him and Tucker thinks he’s leaning in, yeah he’s  _ definitely  _ leaning in, and Tucker’s about to close his eyes but then Wash suddenly stands up.

“No, no, no. I’m sorry I led you on but I still can’t do this. I can’t drag you into my messy, fucked up life,” Wash says, sounding panicked, while running his good hand through his hair and making it even messier than it already was.

“What? I’m already in your life.”

“Tucker.” Wash turns to him and his eyebrows are furrowed together, his lips settled in a frown. “It’ll be so much more complicated. I… I’m going to like,  _ need  _ you, and need to be reassured and sometimes fucking held together because I  _ can’t  _ on my own-- fuck, I mean, you just saw me like that-- and I just-- I can’t do that to you. I don’t want to be a burden to you--”

Tucker stands up so fast that it cuts Wash off. He’s grateful Wash shut up because he angrily shouts, “Wash, you’re not a fucking burden! Stop having such a crybaby pity party for yourself all the time! I know that you have problems and shit but I give a  _ huge  _ fuck about you and you would  _ never  _ burden me or anyone else for that matter! You already don’t!”

“I have such bad luck with people, Tucker,” Wash responds, unphased by Tucker shouting at him. He looks broken. “North, York, South, Maine, CT, Epsilon… I don’t… I can’t do this. I’m bad luck. Everyone dies around me or betrays me or I betray them and I can’t do that to you. I  _ can’t  _ lose you.”

Clenching his jaw angrily while he glares at Wash, Tucker says, “Dude, look the fuck around you. You have me, Caboose, Carolina, the fucking  _ Reds,  _ hell, even Locus apparently, along with  _ everyone  _ in this base. We--  _ they  _ are all alive because of you and you are alive because of them. Those people in your past? That was then. Stop living there. Look at what you have  _ here.  _ We care about you  _ so fucking much _ that we broke god damn time for you! Don’t you get that?”

Wash doesn’t answer. He gazes at Tucker sadly and Tucker almost wants to just slap that fucking look off his face. Instead, he daringly steps closer to him and Wash’s eyes follow him. They stand just a few inches apart.

“Why can’t you give this a chance?” Tucker whispers.

“I’m… I’m terrified,” Wash whispers back.

“So the fuck am I,” Tucker says quietly. “But I’m not going to let fear stop me from being with you. I’ve seen your messy side. I’ve seen your nightmares, I’ve been at the hands of them. I’ve seen you fucking cry and scream and everything else in between. And you know what? It makes me like you  _ more. _ ” Tucker accusingly presses his finger into Wash’s chest. “Because any time something happens to you, any time you  _ cry  _ or get  _ hurt  _ my heart either beats faster or just fucking stops altogether and it makes me realize how much I care about you. And you know what? That scares the shit outta me because I’ve never felt like this for anyone in my entire life! So stop being a fucking  _ pussy  _ and just--”

Wash steps forward and kisses him. Tucker doesn’t hesitate or waste a second this time. He steps closer until his body presses against Wash’s completely and he grabs a handful of that beautiful bleached blonde hair to pull him even closer if possible, kissing him back. Wash’s hands find Tucker’s waist and grip tightly, Tucker presumes out of nervousness or anticipation. He hopes it’s the latter.

Even though Wash already kissed him earlier, Tucker can’t fucking believe he’s making out with Wash. Scary ex-Freelancer Wash, Blue team leader Wash, partner in crime Wash, best friend Wash. He’s so wound up in the disbelief and happiness that he almost misses the way Wash tries to walk him backwards toward his bed. 

But Tucker doesn’t want Wash doing any of the work in whatever they’re about to do so Tucker, although unwilling to part, does so, and instead grabs Wash, shoving him down onto his bed. 

He wishes he had his helmet on so he could just take a picture of the sight because it’s so fucking perfect. Wash lays on his back, propping himself up with his elbows while he looks at Tucker with flushed red cheeks and red lips and his hair is an utterly fucking mess, blonde hair pointing in different directions, not to mention the hard on that’s visible through his sweatpants. 

“Fucking Christ. Can you stay there so I can take a picture?”

“Tucker.” Wash blushes even more if that were possible.

“You’re right. I need more of this.” 

Tucker climbs on top to straddle Wash and leans down to kiss him again. He swears he could kiss him all day and they don’t part for several minutes. Tucker  _ does  _ want to get to the good stuff, but he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t already fucking  _ amazing.  _

Wash’s hands trail under his shirt, feeling up his stomach and chest and back. Tucker does the same but can’t get a good enough angle with Wash under him so he starts to lift his shirt up while they continue kissing. 

Tucker parts for a second to say, “Take this fucking thing off.”

Nodding, Wash sits up for a moment, taking Tucker with him, to take his shirt off and throw it on the ground. Tucker’s about to push him back down but Wash grabs the hem of Tucker’s tank top and starts taking that off, too. He throws it on the ground and even just seeing their shirts on the ground together in this context makes Tucker  _ so  _ fucky giddy and turned on at the same time.

They get back to kissing but Tucker has more territory he wants to explore now so he leaves Wash’s mouth to trail his lips down his jaw to his throat. He stops there and starts sucking to leave a mark. Wash makes the littlest of noises, a shaky breath leaving his mouth every now and then.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so hot.” Tucker traces his lips down more, kissing down Wash’s throat to his collarbones. 

“It sounds so weird to hear you call me that,” Wash breathes out.

“That’s weird but me giving you hickeys isn’t?” Tucker teases and smirks at him.

Wash bites his lip, blinking at Tucker. “I guess you have a point.”

Tucker continues kissing down his chest and runs his hands all over him. “You’re  _ so  _ perfect. You literally have a fucking six-pack. Why were you always hiding this?”

“Maybe because I knew you wouldn’t be able to control yourself,” Wash says timidly, a little bit of tease to his tone.

That makes Tucker look up at him and smirk again. “Are you trying to talk dirty to me, Wash?”

Wash rolls his eyes in response but Tucker knows he was definitely trying. He goes back to preoccupying himself with kissing every part of Wash. He stops at the waistband of his pants and teasingly pulls them down a little to press kisses to his hips. He tests pulling them down further and starts trailing his lips down further and further until Wash tightens his grip in his hair.

“Tucker.”

Tucker looks up at him. This angle is fucking gorgeous and again, Tucker wishes he could take a picture. Wash gazes down at him where Tucker’s got his fingers hooked in Wash’s briefs and pants and his lips just inches from his stomach. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Tucker asks.

“No, just… don’t do anything you don’t want to,” Wash says.

Tucker smiles. “Wash, there is  _ nothing  _ that I don’t want to do to you.”

When he pulls Wash’s pants down and starts to blow him and both of Wash’s hands tangle themselves in Tucker’s hair, Tucker glances up at him to see this sight that he’s insanely in love with and wants to see forever. Wash has his head thrown back and is making the quietest moans in the world. Everything about him during all of this is so painfully  _ Wash  _ but Tucker wouldn’t have imagined it any other way.

Tucker takes his time and does anything and everything he can to make it the best blow job he’s ever given. Wash fucking deserves it and Tucker’s having a hell of a time himself anyways, getting to watch the sexiest guy he’s ever seen in his entire life cum.

He swallows and Wash drags him up, kissing him sloppily for a few minutes until he pushes Tucker onto his back and starts kissing down his body.

“Fuck,” Tucker breathes out, watching Wash’s mouth trail down his own stomach. “You’re so hot,  _ so fucking hot.” _

“I should’ve known you’d be mouthy in bed.” Wash looks up at him, his eyes twinkling. 

“Yeah, no shit, who do you think I am? Besides, you’re so gorgeous I can’t  _ not  _ say anything about it.”

Wash blushes and Tucker  _ loves it.  _

“Let’s see if I can shut you up,” Wash says.

“What do you me--  _ ohhhh, _ fuck me,” Tucker moans out when Wash yanks his pants and briefs down and takes Tucker into his mouth. “Oh my god. I really need a picture of this. Pass me my helmet.”

Wash glares up at him and starts moving his head up and down and Tucker doesn’t want to cum quick because he wants to just take absolutely everything in about this but there’s no way he’s going to last.

“Fucking shit, don’t stop. God, you’re so hot. I don’t deserve you. I can’t believe you’re sucking my dick right now.”

Wash picks up the pace and Tucker wrings his hands into Wash’s hair. He’s thankful his hair is long enough for Tucker to grab onto. He didn’t really think that when he ran his hands through Wash’s hair at the hospital he’d be here several weeks later with his hands in his hair again but because his dick is in Wash’s mouth.

“Fuck, you’re  _ really  _ good at this-- shit, I’m close.”

That makes Wash look up at Tucker and they lock eyes and Tucker’s really got never ending jerk off material after all of this.

“Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck Wash.” _

Tucker finishes in his mouth and falls back to lay down as Wash pulls away.

“I think I did the opposite of shutting you up,” Wash teases and crawls up next to him, sitting up on his elbow as he lays on his side, facing Tucker.

“Yeah, dude,” Tucker responds breathlessly. “You can’t seriously expect me to be quiet when you’re going down on me. Besides, I wasn’t  _ that  _ loud. And just  _ wait  _ until we fuck.”

“Great.” Wash rolls his eyes and then pauses, pulling at a string from his sheet. “So, you still want to do all of this?”

“Wash, if anything, all of that makes me want to do all of this even more.”

“So, we’re… going to date,” Wash says and looks at Tucker.

“Yeah. Let’s date.”

“Okay.” Wash slowly smiles and Tucker smiles back at him. Tucker leans up to kiss him, this time with no heat behind it. He just enjoys Wash’s lips against his, something he looks forward to doing hopefully forever.

When they pull apart, Tucker grabs him and pulls him down into his side. Wash throws his arm over Tucker’s stomach, his head resting against his shoulder. It’s so comfortable and familiar that Tucker can’t believe this is only the second time they’ve cuddled since it feels so normal. 

He glances down at Wash cuddled up against his side and grins to himself. His stupid flirting tactics may not have worked but he still got the guy and he’s  _ so  _ fucking lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeee I've been waiting to do this chapter for so long, literally since I started this fic a couple of months ago and I'm so happy it's finally here! I sat down and wrote 4000 words in one sitting on Wednesday and then 3000 on Thursday just because I literally couldn't stop and wanted to keep going and get it posted as quick as possible! I loved writing this chapter so much and hope you enjoy reading it!  
> Only one more to go then we're all done :) See you in a week or two!  
> Find me on tumblr at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (mod Janae)!


	11. Chapter 11

A few weeks pass and Wash and Tucker being together works. It works  _ really  _ well.

The way Tucker throws himself head, body, legs,  _ everything  _ first into their relationship definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by Wash. Tucker holds his hand or touches his waist or fixes his hair at any time possible. He tells Wash how cute, sexy, or handsome he looks every day (which  _ still  _ makes Wash blush). Sometimes Wash returns to their room to find two or three candles lit that he  _ knows  _ Tucker stole from Donut, and he also finds Tucker naked whenever the candles are lit. Tucker makes him lunch or dinner whenever he makes it for himself (and Wash covers breakfast since Tucker’s mostly always grumpy in the morning even though he doesn’t admit it). Tucker doesn’t hide the fact that he tries to spend all of his free time with Wash, whether it’s privately in their room or out walking the halls or training at the gym. He learns Tucker is a  _ huge  _ cuddler, post-sex or not, and Wash doesn’t complain about it. The touching, the cuddling, all of it is still so foreign to Wash but he does really enjoy it. 

He admits he got a little emotional and stressed leading up to their first time together since it’d embarrassingly been his first, in like, a  _ decade,  _ but Tucker was just so  _ perfect  _ during all of it. He had been so gentle and slow and was  _ constantly  _ making sure Wash was okay, not to mention all of the kisses and compliments he’d peppered Wash with the entire time. 

Aside from the emotional aspects of it all, the physical aspects were fucking  _ mindblowing.  _ Wash finally understood why Tucker was always hyping himself up to be some kind of sex god. 

So, yeah. They do relationship things and it’s really different to any other relationship Wash has been in, sometimes so different that it freaks him out. He almost catches himself saying things like  _ I don’t deserve this  _ or  _ I don’t deserve you  _ or  _ you didn’t have to  _ but he stops. Sometimes because Tucker knows what he’s about to say and glares at him, and most times because Wash kind of really never wants this to end and lets himself have it all.

Wash also tries his best to be a person who is dating someone and make things more special than what would basically just be a friends with benefits relationship. He doesn’t really know how to do that besides also light Donut’s stolen candles and awkwardly wait (naked) for Tucker to return to their room. Tucker is more than thrilled every single time, which doesn’t surprise Wash. He does other things that he thinks Tucker would like too, like getting Tucker’s favorite classic Earth movies pirated from Sarge and Lopez to have movie nights. Wash hasn’t seen most of them which makes Tucker even more excited any time Wash surprises him, so Wash thinks he’s doing an okay job at this dating thing.

Their friendship doesn’t go away, which he’s grateful for, which means Wash is dating the same annoying, suggestive, loud Tucker he’s always known. They still bicker and argue and tease each other relentlessly, but Wash wouldn’t have their relationship any other way.

Wash is happy.  _ So _ god damn happy. And although a lot of that has to do with Tucker, some of it has to do with how he’s positively progressing with his injury as well. 

After he’d failed at sparring with Tucker, he went back to visit Dr. Grey. Wash told her everything that happened and she decided to set up weekly physical therapy appointments for him. She gave him exercises to do at the base as well, things that’d improve his coordination and perception. They also set up weekly sessions where he could go to her office and talk to her about anything, past or present, and they would work forward from there on his mental health.

They decided that he could continue training too, so he and Carolina sat down to organize a schedule where he’d do different exercises and sparring with her, Caboose and Tucker five days out of the week.

At a session with Dr. Grey, she asks, “So, how are you feeling about everything overall? Your memory, your mood, your training?”

“Well, I still have lapses in my memory from time to time, and I do have sudden mood swings here and there. And sometimes I’ll get punched in the face by Caboose when I don’t pick up on certain cues while we’re sparring,” Wash admits. “But I’m still working hard to improve myself every day.”

Dr. Grey smiles at him. “Maybe this won’t be as permanent as we thought to begin with.”

“You know, Emily, I’ve come to realize that even if it is… I’m okay with it.”

Wash leaves his session at the hospital and walks back to the base on his own without armor for the first time.

He’s learned to live with his injury. He’s accepted it and really come to terms with the fact that this is who he is now. Maybe not forever, and maybe he can improve in certain areas, but he’s not dwelling on what he can’t fix. He’s trying to live in the present instead of the future. And honestly? The present isn’t so bad.

He is working on loving himself, too. All parts. The good, the bad, the ugly, all of it. It’s hard,  _ really  _ hard, but he believes that he will be able to someday.

  
  


Wash gets back to his and Tucker’s room and opens the door to find Tucker, Carolina, Grif and Caboose there. Carolina is sitting cross-legged on the ground, reading some sort of instruction manual, while Caboose and Tucker argue about something and Grif lays lazily on Tucker’s bed.

Tucker notices him immediately and his face brightens, bouncing to his feet. “Hey Wash! How was your session with Dr. Grey?”

“It was good,” Wash responds as Tucker approaches him.

Wash will probably never get used to Tucker’s hello and goodbye kisses as the shorter man drags him down for a probably too intimate kiss to be in front of others. Grif makes a gagging noise while Carolina covers Caboose’s eyes, to which Caboose exclaims, “Who turned out the lights?!”

When they pull apart, Wash scowls at Tucker, trying not to grin, who smirks up at him and takes his hand, leading him over to the others.

“What’s going on?” Wash asks them.

“Look at what I got for you!” Tucker exclaims excitedly, pulling a bottle out of a bag. 

Wash looks at it. “You got me red hair dye?”

“Fucking idiot,” Grif says.

“Whoops, wrong one.” Tucker snatches the bottle from his hands and shoves a different bottle into his hands. 

“...You got me hair bleach?” Wash manages out.

“Yeah, dude!” Tucker beams. “We’re going to make you fully blonde again! If you want to, of course.”

“We got some printer toner too so your hair doesn’t become orange and yellow!” Caboose adds.

“It’s just normal toner,” Grif corrects him.

“Right. Normal printer toner.”

“So, what do you say?” Tucker asks, looking up at Wash. “Carolina’s dyeing hers red again too.”

Wash looks down at Carolina and she nods. “Yeah, my roots are getting pretty bad. So are yours, Wash.”

“All right…” Wash says slowly and he sees Tucker and Caboose pretty much vibrating with excitement. “Can someone cut it too?”

“Hell yeah!” Tucker says. “Sit on the ground, big guy. I have the best hands you’ll have ever seen.”

Wash sighs and feels his cheeks heat up as he takes a seat next to Carolina on the ground. Tucker drapes a towel around his shoulders and starts running his fingers through his hair. Wash glances at Carolina where Caboose has started brushing her hair.

“Do you actually trust this?” he whispers to her.

“Of course not,” she responds. “But there’s no way it’ll be worse than what York did during Freelancer.”

Wash grins at the memory. “You remember that?”

She grins back at him, a glint in her eye. “Oh, don’t you think I forgot about the way you two were killing yourselves laughing at me for the next week.”

“It was just too funny any time you were yelling at the team and took your helmet off to reveal a red forehead and red ears. York always said you looked like a real life cartoon character when they got mad.”

Carolina laughs. “Don’t give me a reason to kick your ass when we spar tomorrow.”

Tucker cuts Wash’s hair while Caboose dyes Carolina’s hair. Caboose forgets to wear gloves so his hands are stained red at the end, making Carolina and Wash laugh while Grif and Tucker tell him how they  _ both  _ told him to wear gloves at least five times each. 

Grif ends up repeatedly telling Wash how much he’s going to have wished he waited for Donut to return to have had him cut his hair. Tucker tells him to fuck off but then asks for his help a few minutes later.

Carolina washes her dye out thirty minutes later and returns to let Caboose blow dry her hair. 

Wash looks up at her and grins while Tucker starts squirting bleach into his hair. “You’re right, it  _ is  _ better than York’s job.”

“Good. You did a great job, Caboose,” she says, admiring herself in a mirror. She looks younger again, like her Freelancer days. Her hair’s shorter now than it was then, though. He guesses there must’ve been a good hair salon in the city that sells hair dye because Carolina’s hair is actually firetruck red again, which he hasn’t seen in years, even when she used box dyes in the past that he wasn’t sure how she even got her hands on in the first place.

“Thank you!” Caboose smiles.

Carolina turns and everyone in the room seems to spot a massive patch of red hair dye stained on her back at the same time, just above her tank top. Dye covers her shoulder blades and the back of her arms too. Wash glances at Tucker, who just snickers and doesn’t say anything. Grif grins and shrugs while Caboose doesn’t seem to notice.

Wash’s hair takes a few hours since they have to bleach his roots twice and then tone it. He and Tucker go to the bathroom together and wash it out in the sink. Wash’s eyes burn as the water drips down his face and Tucker tells him to stop complaining and that he’ll be fine, but he drags Wash over to the showerhead instead and they wash it out a lot easier there.

He dries his hair with a towel and it already feels so much different. He has less hair now so he can dry it quicker.

He looks at Tucker after drying it. “Well?” Tucker stares at him and doesn’t say anything at first. Wash frowns. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Tucker finally says, shaking his head. “You look so fucking hot, Wash.”

Wash doesn’t believe him, he never does whenever Tucker tells him that, so he walks over to the mirror to see for himself and stops. He would say he almost doesn’t recognize himself but that would be a lie. He does recognize himself; a self that looks fifteen years younger. A self that had just signed up for Freelancer. 

His hair is so much shorter than before and isn’t a complete fucking mess anymore. It’s short, but not too short like he always hated in basic. It’s bleach blonde from root to tip, something he hasn’t done in awhile either.

“You look so good.” Tucker suddenly beams from behind him, coming up in the reflection Wash is staring at. “You look like, twenty years younger! Not that you looked old before or anything. I love the whole messy, grown out, tired, hot soldier look you had before. But you look fucking adorable now. Is this what I missed out on when you were younger?”

“I guess, yeah,” Wash says, running a hand through his still damp hair. “A lot less scars then, though.”

“Shut up, dude. Your scars just make you more rugged and hot.” Tucker wraps his arms around him from behind, giving a little squeeze. “I’m so lucky I get to experience all Washs in one.” 

They lock eyes in the mirror and Wash grins first, saying, “Thank you. You didn’t do half bad.”

“Told you I have good hands,” Tucker says suggestively.

Wash just hums in response, turning to face Tucker. “We should go back to our room. They’re waiting for us.”

“They can wait a bit longer,” Tucker mumbles, leaning up to kiss him.

Wash kisses him back. He’s honestly still not used to the fact that Tucker can kiss him whenever he wants and vice versa. He’s so lucky.

But before it can go further, Wash pulls away, placing his hands on Tucker’s shoulders. “Come on, Tucker. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Tucker pouts, literally  _ pouts  _ while gazing up at Wash. “You’re telling me you don’t want a quickie?”

“I--” Wash pauses, feeling his face get warm. He clears his throat. “Later.”

“Fine. I’m holding you to that.” Tucker pushes the door open and looks back at him, holding his hand out. “C’mon, mister Too Nice.”

Wash grins and takes his hand.

They get back to their room and Caboose gasps loudly.

“Agent Washington! You look so young! I could just pick you up and cradle you like a baby!”

“Does look pretty good,” Grif inputs. “Nice going, Tucker. Didn’t think you could do it.”

“Fuck you, Grif.”

“Looking good, Wash,” Carolina says, grinning up at him. “You look like the worst fighter on the team again.”

Wash rolls his eyes at the memory but smiles, sitting next to her on the ground, leaning against his bed. He nudges her with his shoulder. “Thanks, boss.” 

Tucker jumps onto his bed next to Grif. “This was fun. We should do this more often but like, do double dates and go out and stuff! Me, my sexy boyfriend and Carolina and her sexy girlfriend.”

Wash looks up to stare at Tucker. Not because he just called Kimball sexy, that’s nothing really new, but because he called him his boyfriend for the first time. Hearing Tucker say that hits Wash like yeah, Wash is his boyfriend, isn’t he? And Tucker’s his. They’re boyfriends.

Tucker doesn’t seem to notice what he said because Carolina glares at him and says, “Why not make it a triple date?” Wash is kind of surprised she doesn’t deny being Kimball’s girlfriend.

“What?” Tucker asks. “With who? Lopez and Sarge? The only other couple is Doc and Donut and they’re not here. And I am not even  _ considering  _ Palomo and Jensen.”

“No, Tucker. Grif and Simmons,” Carolina says to him.

Tucker laughs. “Oh, right. Look, I know you’re still pretty new to our group, and I know they  _ seem  _ like they’re dating since they argue like an old married couple, but I’m pretty sure they’re not actually a thing. Which bums me the fuck out ‘cause if they really aren’t then I’m going to lose a  _ lot  _ of money.”

“I’m down,” Grif says out of nowhere, being mostly quiet the whole time. “As long as we go for food and I get to choose.”

“Deal,” Carolina says to him. “Vanessa says she misses you guys, anyways.”

Wash bites back a grin and looks at Tucker again to see his reaction since not just one but  _ two  _ couples were confirmed. Tucker looks completely dumbfounded and confused and shocked and excited all at once.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” he shouts. “What are you guys saying?! Are you both in relationships?! Grif, what the fuck!?” He turns his attention to Grif, practically punching him off the bed. “Why didn’t you fucking tell me, you jackass?!”

“Literally everyone else knows,” Grif responds, looking unfazed. “How’d you not?”

“Wh-- I’ve straight up  _ asked you  _ so many times and you were always so dismissive and vague!”

“You’re just dumb,” Grif tells him.

Carolina doesn’t hide how smug she looks and even laughs out loud. 

Tucker turns to her. “And you! How could you just lie to my face?! Both of you! You guys fucking suck!”

Wash watches Tucker argue with Grif and Carolina and smiles to himself. 

Tucker had asked him a few nights ago when exactly Wash started liking him. First, Wash had joked that he doesn’t like Tucker, to which Tucker tried to wrestle him to the ground, yelling about how _ that’s fucking bullshit _ and  _ you totally love me, don’t lie. _ It ended with Wash pinning Tucker to the ground after they’d fallen off his bed and he paused, suddenly not knowing the answer. He didn’t know when he started to like Tucker since he suppressed it so much. Tucker just grinned at Wash’s lack of an answer and said, “Don’t worry, I don’t really know either. Just kinda sprang up on me. Like a boner.” Wash had rolled his eyes and started to get up while calling him immature, but Tucker dragged him back down for a kiss and they ended up just staying on the ground for a while longer.

Wash still doesn’t know when he started to like Tucker.

Was it when he was in the hospital post-op and Tucker was there, holding his hand? Was it when he talked him through a panic attack? Was it when he ran his hand through Wash’s hair in front of everyone?

Or was it when Wash realized his friends broke time for him and that it was Tucker’s idea and insistence to do so?

Was it when he heard about how strong Tucker had been while fighting Temple and his men to stop him?

Was it when he saw the aqua Meta suit and immediately thought the worst, but then the helmet came off and it was Tucker, alive and well after having defeated Charon’s soldiers?

Was it a few moments after that when everyone realized they’d lost Epsilon and Tucker’s eyes started to water while he turned away and punched the wall of the ship so hard that it dented the metal? Was it after that when he immediately turned to console Caboose, hugging him for maybe the first time Wash had ever seen?

Was it when Tucker was stabbed by Felix and Wash was so scared that he’d really lost him and snuck into med-bay to hold his hand while he slept?

Was it when they were separated on Chorus and Wash couldn’t stop thinking about Tucker for some reason, about how Tucker was probably dead and Wash felt insanely guilty? Was it when they reunited on Chorus, when Tucker came to rescue him and the others?

Was it when Wash looked up and saw Felix dragging Tucker through a cave and Wash realized he wasn’t going to make it and the others and Tucker wouldn’t either if he didn’t do something about it? Was it when he said  _ Freckles, shake  _ and his heart was happy they’d live but breaking at the same time because he wouldn’t see them or Tucker ever again?

Or… was it earlier than that?

When Tucker decided to go help Epsilon and Carolina kill the Director when no one else wanted to.

When Carolina pointed a gun at Tucker’s head and Wash instinctively pointed his at her.

When Tucker was so keen on saving Epsilon from the memory unit.

When Tucker took him in and was curious about him and asked the most absurd questions for someone who he’d  _ just met.  _ When Tucker was skeptical to leave Caboose with him for awhile. When Tucker heard Wash have his first nightmare and burst into his room to make sure he was okay.

When the first time he laid eyes on Tucker, he was ready to go into battle with a  _ sword  _ against the Meta and Wash was immediately intrigued by him.

He still doesn’t know the exact moment.

But he’s thinking that maybe it was all of them combined and for every new moment, he just fell harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end.   
> Just three months (and a day) later and it's over!  
> When I started this fanfic I really had no idea where I was going with it. I just knew the basics that I wanted to explore: Wash's state of mind after getting shot and his relationship with Tucker afterwards.   
> I hope that anyone who was looking for a post-season 17 fanfic enjoyed my take on it. I had a blast writing it for these last three months. I've been in a writing stump for a few years when it comes to my own writing and OC's so it's really, really, really nice to finish something. I'm really happy I got to write and finish this in such a short amount of time too. I set goals every week and then every two weeks to write at least a 5000 word chapter every week/two weeks to upload. I wanted to see this through and I'm super proud of myself for getting 50k+ words done within 3 months.  
> I'm sure I'll write more in the future, it might just take me another 4 years! Let's hope not though! ;)  
> To my sibling Sol and my friend Sophie, thank you for being just as crazy about RvB and ships as me and inspiring me. Sol, thank you for being my proofreader and editor. I wouldn't have had the balls to post any of this if I didn't know you approved it first.  
> To everyone who has commented or given a kudos or a bookmark or just read silently, thank you. I hope you enjoyed.  
> Find me at rvb-is-gay.tumblr.com (I'm mod Janae).  
> Take care all!


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